


Atrophy

by Lacertae



Series: Equilibrium [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Developing Friendships, Enemies to Lovers, Flirting, Kissing, M/M, Neck Kissing, Omnic Racism, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Omnic Crisis, Sensuality, Team as Family, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-24 00:48:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12001434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacertae/pseuds/Lacertae
Summary: *Doomfist/Zenyatta* Sequel to 'For want of Balance'Zenyatta is tasked with what appears to be a simple yet important reconnaissance mission.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have to thanks my friend naopao, without whom I would have never started writing this series (she dragged me into akanday and that started it all). She has enabled me a lot, so I have to dedicate the entire thing to her and her unwavering patience.
> 
> With this, 'For want of Balance' is officially part of a series. There will be a lot of interconnected ficlets and one-shots detailing the growing relationship between Zen and Akande, and the ride is going to be bumpy and full of surprises. Catch my red herrings and foreshadowing here folks!
> 
> Also: this was supposed to be a one-shot... but you know me, right?
> 
> Thanks to all those who voted for Doomyatta on my poll and enabled me to continue my growing obsession with this plot.
> 
> REVIEWS ARE WELCOME AND LOVED!
> 
> PS: updates once a week

**Atrophy**

**Chapter 01**

 

The room around him was quiet.

It was one of the standard rooms that were given to agents at Gibraltar, and one that had seen far better times in the past, but it had been scrubbed clean of debris and dust on the first few weeks since Zenyatta’s arrival to the base, and was thus perfectly inhabitable.

The walls still needed a paint job, little cracks here and there and some humidity patches on the upper ceiling, right in the corners, but it was clean and simple, just the way Zenyatta liked it.

Not too spacious, it had enough room for a simple cot, a thin mattress and a blanket, a comfortable carpet for his morning stretches and yoga exercises, a couple shelves and a table with a chair.

At first, Winston had offered Zenyatta to add a holovision to the room as most of the others had one, but Zenyatta had declined, not wishing him to bother with it; after all, Genji’s room had one, and they could share if they wanted to spend leisure time that way.

As opposed to some of the newer omnic models, which had in-built holopads and wireless hotspots, Zenyatta had none. His model was not an outdated one, but it was quite old, and though he’d undergone a few fix and upgrades since his activation-birth, he’d never seen fit to add any extra option he would not strictly need. Due to that, other than a growing pile of books on his shelves and e-books in the e-reader he owned, Zenyatta had a holotablet and a phone.

This was the extent of the things he had to his name, though there were a few knick-knacks he’d acquired in years of travels around the world, and they were all placed in the room around him. A plant on the windowsill, books piled up on the shelves, a few simple paintings, yet another plant on the table next to his holotablet, some figurines and statuettes and small tools that brightened the room a bit, a drawing of three cats made by some kids in one town he’d visited once, and recently, a shirt which he kept folded neatly on the back of his chair.

Anyone who entered the room could tell it belonged to Zenyatta, simple and practical and yet with enough personal touch to it that no one could mistake it for a storage room.

It was also his own –a private space that the others respected, just as his quarters back at the Shambali monastery had been… and just like that, the only one who had full access to Zenyatta’s room was Genji, though he never abused that privilege.

Within the confines of his room, Zenyatta could have privacy when needed. At times he used it to meditate, others simply to rest without anyone else coming in, but in this particular case, it granted him the certainty that none of the others would know of his current research subject.

Sitting at the table, legs comfortably folded in lotus, Zenyatta stared down at the photo displayed on the holotablet’s screen, optical receptors unmoving as they catalogued every detail on the frozen frame.

It was an old photo depicting a young man with short, cropped dark hair and his chest bare, lithe but with enough muscles showing that hinted to rigorous training, arms wrapped up to the elbow with protective bandages, fingers dusted with white powder.

The young man –perhaps in his early twenties, maybe a little younger– was not looking at the camera, head tilted to the side, focused on something Zenyatta could not see, but the intensity of the gaze was all too familiar nonetheless, the curve of his face, the tilt of his lips that indicated smugness.

Captured in a picture at least a decade old, if not more, was a younger Akande Ogundimu after a successful combat match. It was not yet a famous Akande, one that had raised through the ranks until he’d reached the top, but the photo captured one of his first real victories, a memory stolen from time and preserved in online storages for posterity, there for anyone who wished to view it.

This young man did not know what the future reserved for him –he had no way of knowing that in a few years he would become one of the top combatants in the world, only to see his dreams vanish and crumble into dust with one single, horrible incident.

Zenyatta’s optical receptors observed the youth in Akande’s face, the way he jutted his chin out as if challenging someone, full of confidence that had never truly left him, and wondered, then, what he should feel about it.

The man was more than a mere puzzle for Zenyatta to solve. He was unconceivably pragmatic, driven and sure of himself, like a force of nature, like a typhoon.

Four weeks had passed since his return to the OverWatch base. A month since he had spent an entire week of captivity under Akande’s control. During this time, Zenyatta had quietly started researching on the man who was now Doomfist, driven by curiosity and something else he did not wish to fully address.

Information was scarce, and Zenyatta had never cared to learn about the man before, so even that little was difficult to find; he did his best to compile what he could, gathering every tiny fragment of the puzzle and putting them all together.

Akande’s motivations for joining Talon were clear –or at least, his drive was, but what Zenyatta sought was different. He wanted to know what had been the starting flame, the kindle that had sparkled with enough force to push a man like Akande down a path of ruthless destruction. Had he always been seeking change in such ways, or was it something that had happened gradually?

He wished to know who Akande had been, make it so his game with Akande could be on even footing, so not to be caught unprepared next time as he had earlier…

But that was not all.

Zenyatta was unduly intrigued by him, and his attraction had not lessened with time. If anything, he found his thoughts returning to Akande often even now, and considering he had nothing else to do but indulge them, Zenyatta could easily focus on learning as much as he could about Akande, and about Doomfist and the infamous gauntlet.

After all, it was not like Zenyatta was being useful to the team as it was.

The fleeting thought disrupted Zenyatta’s focus, a sliver of discord and disgruntlement worming its way through him, and with a sigh, Zenyatta looked away from Akande’s younger face to confront the discord within himself, servos tensing a bit.

It was true that since his return, the rest of the team had been… somewhat protective over him. Maybe protective was not quite the right term, but it was close enough.

They were _worried_ , and Zenyatta appreciated their concern and care, as it made him feel part of their family, but the way they chose to express that care was disappointing for him.

Four weeks, and Zenyatta had yet to be scheduled on a single assignment.

Usually, a week could go by without one of them being asked to do some reconnaissance duty, and a few rare times, they were tasked with an escort mission or something bigger, but there was always some work to do for OverWatch, even with their limited freedom and as of yet unofficial status with the law.

A week could be explained.

Four weeks, though… could not.

Zenyatta folded both hands on his lap, and his eyes fell again on the photo in front of him.

Decades separated him from the person depicted there –decades, and an entire lifetime of ideals and fights– and yet he could recognise Akande’s visage and a shadow of what the man had become.

When he had admitted to his teammates that he had been abducted by Akande, he should have expected them to react with worry.

After all, he had disappeared for a week.

They had not been there when he’d been taken, so they had no idea what had happened. One moment Zenyatta had been guarding an important artefact, reporting every ten minutes to Athena, the next he’d completely vanished, leaving behind nothing, not even footage of what had happened to him, the cameras conspicuously blinking offline at the wrong time.

He had been gone for a week, and nothing any of them had done had been helpful to locate him. They had been helpless, and Zenyatta had felt it in their auras the moment he’d returned –the deep guilt and anxiety his disappearance had caused.

It was not surprising that they were warier, now, keeping him at the base, just in case, even though he’d reassured them that Talon would not want to contact him again, not when he’d already rejected their offer… (and hadn’t that been such an amusing conversation to have? To look into Winston’s eyes and admit that he had been kidnapped solely to be offered to defect…) yet of course, that did not mean Zenyatta had to like the situation.

Four weeks, and Zenyatta had decided it was time to find Winston and address the problem instead of dancing around it. He’d been given too much time to think, though he knew he could not fault Winston if he’d spent that time with his thoughts cycling back to Akande and the week they’d spent with one another.

“Zenyatta?”

The familiar voice of Athena coming from a communication pad on the wall startled Zenyatta a little, shaking him out of his thoughts.

All rooms at the base were connected with Athena’s system, though Zenyatta did not feel it was a bother considering she kept to herself most of the time, and only interacted with the agents to pass on a message or alert them when a new mission was coming.

She was also aware of Zenyatta’s private research, and had tried to help whenever possible, to facilitate him, directing him to the right sites to gather all the information he could.

“Yes? Is there something you require from me?” he kept his eyes on the photo in front of him, unmoving and calm.

“I thought you would like to know that there might be an incoming mission this weekend that will require your presence to be completed.”

Athena sounded business-like, but there was an edge to her tone that made Zenyatta’s forehead array flicker in a small smile.

“Thank you for your consideration. Does Winston know you have contacted me?”

“Not yet, but he is just as aware that you are the only suitable agent right now, so you have a good chance to get through to him unless he wants to let this chance go.”

It was no secret that Athena did not share the others’ stifling worry over Zenyatta’s safety, perhaps due to the fact that she was not an organic and had seen, more than the rest of the agents, what Zenyatta could do, so it was a pleasant surprise to see she was willing to go out of her way to inform Zenyatta of any incoming missions.

“You have my thanks yet again then, Athena. I will go see Winston immediately.”

“Acknowledged. In the meantime, do you require further details about the articles you have been perusing?”

Zenyatta’s optical receptors had yet to move away from young Akande’s face, but at Athena’s prompting, his array flickered in a blink and he glanced to the side, pressing his hand against the surface of the holotablet to obscure the screen. “That… will not be necessary, at least not for the present moment. There is still quite a lot I will need to process first.”

“Duly noted.”

With a small, unneeded sigh, Zenyatta unfolded his legs and stood up.

***

The base of Gibraltar was a wide compound, taking up more than a single building and stretching over the coast right above the sea, but all the agents’ rooms were in the same wing, while most of the active area was in the middle building, including the meeting hall and Winston’s office.

Zenyatta found it peculiar that Winston selected a room for himself that was close to the rest of the team when in the end he spent most of his time in the office area anyway, with Athena as his faithful companion.

He was not the only one who made little use of the personal quarters, though –Angela, who had joined OverWatch last, rarely left the infirmary, and if not for Fareeha’s constant prodding, she would sleep and eat in there as well.

Oftentimes, Zenyatta joined her there, offering her a much needed distraction from the constant research and work, and she seemed to be glad for his company as he was for hers.

The corridors were empty and dusty as Zenyatta floated by, passing row after row of closed doors that led to equally empty, unused rooms.

The base was equipped to be able to host more than fifty agents at one time, but there were only eleven of them on active duty, and usually less than five present at the same time on any given day. There were not many missions that OverWatch could take up, not when it was not yet whitelisted by the United Nations, so Winston had to tread carefully as he attempted to get it officially sanctioned once again… yet there were also not enough agents, which made Winston’s refusal to send Zenyatta on a mission even more unreasonable.

With their priorities set on helping and protecting, not to mention clashing against Talon, OverWatch needed all the help it could get.

So far, other than eleven active agents on base (nine who had moved there permanently, one who lived there but left often for business related to his fame, and Lena, who still lived with her girlfriend) there were a few members who had offered their allegiance but only took over missions relevant to their positions or roles, or for tasks that could be performed locally due to their duties outside of OverWatch; most notably, the latest addition to the team had been Efi Oladele’s modified OR15 model, Orisa. Zenyatta had met her during one of his missions in Numbani, and had since then kept in contact with her, establishing a good friendship with the newly created omnic. Winston had tried to enlist a few famous names, solo combatants that were rather well-known around the world for their skills and strategy, but of those he had contacted only one had answered his call –a man whose codename was Soldier76.

The man had refused to join, at least for the moment, citing a previous task that needed to be completed before he joined –he was focusing on hunting a Talon operative that Zenyatta himself had only seen once, and from afar– but had promised Winston unconditional support once he was done. Winston had appeared content with that, appeased with the connections the Soldier had and how he would be an important asset to OverWatch in the future.

Unfortunately, eleven on-site members and a couple scattered around the world were all they had, right now.

Truly, Zenyatta’s decision to join OverWatch had been the right one.

The organization lacked funds, personnel and mobility, but in time and with the right help it would grow to be much more important, and perhaps raise up to become the true force that could drive Talon’s change away from the world.

As it was, though, OverWatch still had a long way to go, and Zenyatta wondered, not for the first time, if he should not attempt to reach out as well. The Shambali had their own network of connections around the world, albeit a more pacific one, and Zenyatta had cultivated a lot of contacts and friendships over the years that might end up beneficial for OverWatch, at least in theory, but he’d always felt it was not his place to use something he’d gained while a member of the Shambali, not now that he’d hastily abandoned his siblings behind to pursue a different path.

Zenyatta exhaled an artificial breath and shook his head, focusing once more on the present.

Again, all thoughts of the Shambali were gently pushed to the side, archived for later –even if that later never did come.

There were things he admitted were too much for him to handle yet. Maybe one day.

The door to Winston’s office was open, and Zenyatta paused in front of it, peeking to check if Winston was inside.

He was.

The giant gorilla was sitting on a table, with a far too small laptop balanced on his lap, tapping away on the keyboard.

Every now and then, he’d look away from the laptop and into one of his bigger computers, where Athena was flashing information and data which he seemed to be following on the laptop, though he was grumbling under his breath, wide fingers too big to correctly type on such a tiny keyboard.

For the first month since joining OverWatch, Zenyatta had found the sight of Winston working a peculiar one, but by now, it was common enough to bring a smile to his forehead array.

Zenyatta hesitated at the door for a few seconds, unsure whether to bother Winston when he looked busy, then he was given an opening; Winston placed down the computer, probably with a little more force than necessary, and looked around until he located a jar of peanut butter, his face brightening at the sight.

“Winston…?”

Startled out of his contemplation, Winston looked up.

Just like Zenyatta, he was not a human –as such, he did not have the ability for complex emotional expressions, though what he could do was enough to give him a striking personality regardless, but Zenyatta had known him for over a year now, and could easily recognise most of his moods and right then, Winston appeared quite sheepish.

“Ah, welcome, welcome! Do come in! Is there… is there something I can do for you?” shuffling most of his work to the side with a single careful swipe of one arm, Winston slid off the table and advanced towards him.

Zenyatta had to admit that the sight was incredibly humbling, as Winston was far larger and taller than he was, and yet the way he moved and held himself only seemed to contradict his size, for Winston always attempted to appear meek and as unthreatening as possible.

His forehead array flickered in a smile, and he tilted his head forwards in a small nod. “Indeed, my friend.” Despite his smile, Zenyatta’s tone was serious, and Winston instantly picked up on that. “I would like to have a word with you, if it’s possible.”

“I, uh… yes. Yes, of course!”

Winston did not fidget –not like a human would, at least– but he did express his uneasiness through body language, and knowing what to look for, Zenyatta noticed it easily. He shifted and all the fingers of his feet tapped and stretched against the floor, while both of his arms remained conspicuously inert at his sides, and he twitched, his nose wrinkling a bit.

Zenyatta did not speak for a few seconds, long enough that Winston’s obvious discomfort grew more and more noticeable. “You have been keeping me at the base long enough, Winston.” He finally said, humming quietly. Winston tensed immediately, and inched away from him.

“I…”

“I would like to know your reasoning for that, considering how much work there is to do,” Zenyatta continued, calm and collected, hands intertwined on his lap. “I do not wish to assume your motivations, but you should know I am growing somewhat… impatient… about this situation.”

A few more seconds ticked by, Zenyatta and Winston staring at one another in silence, one poised and the other tense. Then, as if a switch had been flicked, Winston slumped a little, looking down as he absently pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“I know. I’m… I’m sorry, Zenyatta. It’s not…” big hands closing into fists then quickly opening again, another attempt not to appear violent or aggressive, and Zenyatta fought the urge to move forwards and take one of those hands into his own. It was not the time for a comforting gesture, not when he was attempting to be stern. “Listen, I know you’re perfectly capable of completing your missions. I know that. I trust you, you… you know that, right?”

Zenyatta nodded, though he did not speak.

It was still rather reassuring to hear, as he had no idea what Winston’s motivation was, other than a possible worry for his safety.

“It’s just… you know. You’ve been… and it wasn’t by just _anyone_ , it was…” Winston seemed to be at loss of words, for he shuffled again and groaned, dropping the jar of peanut butter on the table and circling around it, putting space between Zenyatta and himself. “I trust your skills, and –I don’t want you to believe I would ever consider that you’d just… that’s not it, okay?”

Zenyatta hummed. It was not easy to follow Winston’s attempts to explain, his tone coloured with embarrassment, but he still understood what he meant to say.

“I am glad you trust me enough to know I wouldn’t join such an organization willingly,” Zenyatta nodded at him. “So the problem is… Akande?”

Winston seemed startled by Zenyatta’s casual use of Doomfist’s name, because he hesitated before nodding, absently tapping his fingers on the table’s edge. “Doomfist is… a volatile character. He’s dangerous, and I should know, I had to face him. But I also had to watch as he…” he made a small, aborted motion to the side, and Zenyatta reached out with his mind only to retreat instantly, the waves of discord surrounding Winston so thick they were almost painful. “He was successful in taking you away.”

Unaware of Zenyatta’s flinch, Winston turned his back to him and paced around his office, from one table to the other, unable to stand still.

It was obvious to Zenyatta that Winston had been chewing on this for the entire time, just as much as Zenyatta had, because the moment he’d been confronted about the situation, Winston had crumbled, seeking out his understanding.

“But I have refused the offer, and I was allowed to leave,” Zenyatta rebutted, gently, testing Winston’s aura only to see it grow thicker with worry and anxiety. “What has you so worried, Winston?”

“You cannot tell me that he’s a person who’d take refusal well, Zenyatta.” Winston turned around again, weight on his front arms, undulating slightly to move towards him again. “If he took it personally, he will find a way to come at you, find your weaknesses and exploit them.”

Well, that was a reasonable approach to Akande’s personality, indeed. He knew how to do research on anyone, and then use what he knew to his gain.

He’d been so secure in his knowledge that Zenyatta would give in, that he would join him, no matter how long it took…

Zenyatta shook his head slowly, banishing those thoughts, but Winston took his gesture as an answer to his words, because he rubbed his face with one hand, pushing his glasses askew.

“Listen… It’s just that… I just don’t want to face that again, Zenyatta. This place… this base is my home, but it’s nothing more than an empty building without the people inside. You –all of you– are my family. My responsibility. What happened to Genji, to Lena…” again, Winston’s hands clenched into fists, but this time he did not loosen them. “On my watch, I swore I would not let that happen again. You understand, don’t you? I want to keep you _safe_.”

There was a wave of emotions curling around Zenyatta from Winston’s aura, and the internal anguish, the pain he felt, were strong enough that he had to centre himself, his mala vibrating softly around his neck as they started to glow golden with Harmony, assessing both Zenyatta and Winston’s turmoil.

Zenyatta had wondered, many times, if he would truly fit in with the others.

They were a mismatched group, but he’d always thought –always _hoped_ – that he could grow to see them as a family after he’d left the monastery. Uprooted by his own actions, Zenyatta had only had himself and Genji for a long while, and once he’d picked OverWatch, he had hoped he could find himself a place there, though he had been ready to move on if it turned out OverWatch was not right for him.

He knew now, at least, that Winston had welcomed him fully, and that sent a wave of warmth through his circuits and his frame, a kind of feeling that could rival Harmony inside him.

He reached out with one steady hand, placing it on Winston’s shoulder, hovering closer, placating, calm but radiating content.

“That is incredibly heart-warming, Winston. I feel honoured to be considered part of your family, and that you’d wish to keep me safe, but… as a friend, as our commander, even–” Winston was startled at that, still unused to that denomination, still unsure about owning up to it “–there is only so much you can do. I apologize if my disappearance left you feeling helpless, though I returned unscathed, and I’m aware it could have gone so much worse, at that…” it had been one of his thoughts, during the first few days, afraid to be dismantled, or used or hurt while alone and separated from the others “and I am by no means discounting the dangers that dealing with Akande… with Doomfist… might bring, and yet… I also do not wish to hide away while you all do your best. I am part of this organization for a reason, and that is to help and do my part. It is why I joined with Genji, and why I am proud to be an agent of OverWatch.”

Winston wrinkled his nose, face slack and eyes wide, and Zenyatta observed him in silence, allowing him some time to think.

“I have been a bit overprotective, I know. Lena… well, she implied that, once or twice,” Winston’s voice tilted a little, an edge of amusement lacing his voice, and Zenyatta chuckled, as he was perfectly aware of Lena’s attitude. “But… I guess it’s difficult to understand. I had to watch her flicker and disappear right in front of me, and that was not the first time it happened. I was afraid then that I could do nothing to bring her back, and when we couldn’t find you, well… uh.” Winston hesitated, fumbling a bit with himself, and Zenyatta nodded in understanding, warmed by his care.

“You thought the same for me. I understand.” Zenyatta hummed quietly, squeezing Winston’s shoulder, tension in his servos, then decided to continue, as Winston had admitted to him something incredibly private, and Zenyatta wished to let him know that he did, in fact, understand. “I might not have watched someone I care for disappear as you did, but I have also lost someone, and I have…” his voice faltered, glitched, fizzled for a second without his control, and he forced himself to continue as if nothing was wrong “found myself at fault for that. I wondered, endlessly, if I had been there, could I have prevented it?”

Understanding coloured Winston’s aura, and his face slackened in surprise, then dismay.

“But… you were able to bring her back, Winston. And while you might not be able to protect all of us, and something might indeed happen… you are doing your best, and so are we. I do feel better knowing you will have my back, if the need arises, but I dare say Akande will not wish to harm me. Not when he still has hopes I will change my mind.”

“Ah, well, I guess, but–” Winston paused. “Wait. What? Doomfist… he… what?”

“As you said, he is not one to take rejection kindly, but he seemed convinced I would see things his way, and I believe it is why he chose to let me go.”

There was, of course, more to this. So much more. The security in Akande’s voice that had only been matched by his desire, by the conviction that Zenyatta would somehow join him, a world of things left unsaid, and what had happened between them… but no, Zenyatta would not say that to Winston, or anyone else.

As long as it did not interfere with his job, or his position within OverWatch, it was still a safe secret to keep.

A few seconds ticked by, and Zenyatta had to wonder, in his open honesty, if it had been the correct thing to say, if Winston would take his words in a different way, if…

Then, Winston’s shoulders shook and he started to laugh, loud huffs and grunts that made his entire frame shake. “I’m… I’m sorry, I did not mean to lose my composure this way, but–” Winston pushed his glasses back up his nose, lips stretched in an approximation of a grin, the closest in appearance he could ever be to a human, “but if he truly believes you’d ever side with Talon, he will have to wait forever, huh?”

Zenyatta chuckled again, his mirth heightened by the way Winston’s aura had shifted, the grief and worry lessening with his laughter. “Indeed.”

Finally, Winston straightened his back and moved away from Zenyatta, laughter fading as he cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly on his arms to sit down on the floor. Even then, he and Zenyatta were even in height, and still looked at one another in the face.

“I owe you an apology, Zenyatta. I hope you will not hold it against me. I… uh. I’m sorry, really.”

“On the contrary, I have to thank you, my friend. I had… my reservations about joining this organization, at first, even though I knew it was the right choice, for I was not convinced my presence would be welcome among you. It makes me feel reassured you’d consider me part of your family enough to wish me safe, though I hope I will never give you reason to feel such worry ever again.”

Winston reached out, slowly, and pressed his heavy hand on Zenyatta’s shoulder. Even with his attempt to be gentle, his strength was still considerable, and Zenyatta’s shoulder strained under its weight, wires and metal protesting, but Zenyatta did not move away, accepting the touch for what it was.

“You are one of us, Zenyatta.”

Flashing him a smile through his forehead array, Zenyatta nodded. “Well then,” he said, returning to the main reason of his visit, “Athena mentioned there was a mission that might need my presence?”

***

The clothes Zenyatta had been given were simple, bought by Hana and Lena during one of their friendly outings.

It was nothing special, and Hana had been rather disappointed by that –she’d always wished to buy clothes for Zenyatta but had never dared to ask for fear of upsetting or offending him– but they were still clothes, and one step above the pants Zenyatta used to wear.

Or, well –the new pants he had to wear now, considering his old, tattered ones had been stolen and disposed of by Akande.

Zenyatta unfolded the shirt first –a simple one with no distinctive logos or designs– and held it in front of him before putting it down and unfolding the red pants, observing them as well. He would not have to wear them for long, but it would help hide his visible circuits, which would make him too easily identifiable.

“Master… do you truly wish to go?”

Zenyatta hummed softly, synth making a small, disappointed sound, and Genji, from his perch on the window, winced at that, familiar as it was.

“I feel I have made myself clear already, Genji. I will not be dissuaded, and the mission itself is rather simple and free of any possible danger.”

Genji shuffled a little, folding his arms in front of himself, defensive. He had yet to remove his mask, even in the privacy of Zenyatta’s room, because the door was open and they had already received two visits from Jesse and Hana, both wishing to make sure Zenyatta was alright with his mission.

“It is not about the mission itself, it’s just…” the edge in Genji’s voice made Zenyatta pause, putting down the pants on the bed and twisting his neck to stare at his student. “It is demeaning.”

That gave Zenyatta pause.

“What, exactly, is demeaning about my mission, Genji?” calm, composed, Zenyatta folded both hands in front of him and awaited an answer. When one was not forthcoming, Genji wincing slightly at his own wording, Zenyatta sighed. “It is an undercover mission, and I will simply have to work as a waiter. Is that what you find demeaning, my student?”

Genji’s back straightened instantly, and though his face was not visible, Zenyatta could almost see his panicked, frantic expression as he shook his head. “No, that’s not it!” hands curling into fists at his side, Genji kept his back straight and stared right into Zenyatta’s optical receptors. “It is not such a simple mission, master. That man… he is a known sympathizer with the Anti-Omnic faction. He only allows omnics to work for him, and he treats them like… like…” so tense and upset, Zenyatta did not need to see his face or feel his aura to know Genji was angry on his behalf.

“… like machines, Genji?” he interjected, and watched Genji flinch. Open, raw. Zenyatta let out a soft sigh. “You are aware there are people out there who only see omnics as things that are assembled for a purpose, rather than beings who can think and express themselves. Unfortunately, Talon reaches out to such people, more so if they are in positions of advantage. It is exactly why I have to go. As Hartstrom only allows omnics to work for him, there is no chance for one of you to be able to infiltrate into his villa, not even as guests –and even then, your mobility would be greatly reduced, and you’d be monitored constantly. As a waiter, I will have much more freedom, and his disinterest for omnics will aid me rather than hinder me. As you see, I am needed for this mission.”

Genji slumped a little, defeated even before attempting a true comeback.

Zenyatta had been briefed about the incoming mission by Winston, though he had also expressed his doubts about Zenyatta’s involvement.

Talon as an organization kept many fronts, but it was also spread enough that no one, not even OverWatch, could get an estimate of how many people it recruited or how many people worked for them in secret.

It was a humbling thought, even more so when one had to take into account the many sympathizers and the generous benefactors who aided Talon financially.

James Hartstrom was one of the few names that OverWatch knew, though unfortunately no proof had been gathered that was enough to press charges against him. He was rich, famous and had a believable façade that helped hide his less than legal traffics –in short, unless actual proof was found, he was untouchable. Still, having a known name helped OverWatch keep an eye on him. Thanks to that, after months of careful monitoring and undercover snooping around, Winston had been able to intercept news of a party that would take place during the following weekend at one of Hartstrom’s villas, which was a mere front for a Talon recruit operation.

There would be many guests, most of which were probably either in contact with Talon operatives or benefactors for the organization, and Winston had hoped, in his initial ingenuity, to hack into the files containing the invitations and jot down a list of names to peruse later.

That had proved to be impossible; Winston was a great scientist, but not even he could worm his way past the firewalls built around the information. Two virus and a serious purge of Athena’s system later, his next move had been to check for an opening, but all invitations had been sent and he could not access them, so there was no hope for him to plant an agent at the party, either.

Which only left one option –send an undercover member of OverWatch as a worker at the villa.

That, too, proved to be almost impossible. James Hartstrom had a small entourage of human employees with him that never changed, and the rest… manual labour, cleaners, maids… was entirely comprised by omnics.

It was the kind of job that few omnics were inclined to take –the pay was the bare minimum, and the reviews online said workers were treated horribly, so the few that were employed were either newly created omnics who had yet to develop themselves, those who were not yet free or those with no other choice, unable to find work elsewhere but needing one to survive.

In truth, Zenyatta could understand Genji’s reticence, and the thought of many of his own stuck working in such a situation, demeaned and mistreated –some of which without hope to be let out yet– made him acutely aware that there was still so much to do in order to help, and Zenyatta wondered if by taking this job, he could also find a way to help those omnics.

“Genji, my dear –I understand your worry, but you need not,” Zenyatta shook his head, turned around and shuffled out of his pants, Genji looking away to offer him privacy. “It will be a rather quick job –the party is due to start in the evening, and I will be joining the rest of the staff in the early afternoon to set up the area. Jesse made sure to prepare my credentials and everything I’d need, and it is not like I am recognizable, especially not for someone who has no care for omnics. It is doubtful I will catch someone’s attention, and all I need to do is walk around and record faces and any name I can hear to transcribe later.”

“Yes, but–” Genji looked back at him, and upon realising he was still unclothed, made a soft sound of embarrassment and hurried to look away again. “Master, one of the reasons we have been unable to hack into that man’s firewall is because he has extremely intense masking signals. You will be…” a beat “untraceable, while you are in there. We will not be able to keep in contact, or communicate with you if you ever need help.”

“I’d say I can hold my own if the need arises. Or do you not remember who beat you during our latest spar, my dear?”

The dry, monotone voice ripped a quiet chuckle from Genji despite his seriousness. “That is not a novelty, master. I have yet to truly beat you in combat. I do not doubt your prowess, as I have felt it on my own skin far too many times already. No, I do not trust them, nor how they will treat you, or how dangerous it can still be while alone and surrounded by enemies. Even someone like you can be overpowered or incapacitated, and if that happened, none of us would…”

Zenyatta sighed. He’d already talked this through with Winston, who had expressed the same fear, but he knew that keeping Genji calm would require more than a simple reassurance.

After all, the two of them had been together now for years, from when they had lived in the monastery to the many years spent travelling around the world, with only one another as company and support.

Genji still called him master, and was greatly pleased whenever Zenyatta referred to him as his student, but the truth was that since they had left the Shambali, Zenyatta had ceased to see Genji as such, and after Mondatta’s death, when Genji had been the one strength that had aided Zenyatta in his own grief, it was hard not to see him as his equal, though Genji still refused to believe that.

He favoured his bond with Genji greatly, considering him as dear as Mondatta had been.

One of his orbs, which he’d placed on the bed, rose and floated towards Genji, circling him before prodding him on the side of his visor, and Zenyatta reached out with his thoughts and unlocked a stream of Harmony into it.

Genji sighed, accepting the gesture for what it was, though he did not appear appeased.

“I know Jesse and Fareeha plan to wait outside in order to pick me up should something happen, and they will keep an eye on the situation though they will be unable to get too close due to the surveillance cameras and guards. As there is nothing else you have to do for the night, if you wish you can join them, or meditate if you feel you need to, but I will not change my mind simply because the situation is dangerous. If you had been picked in my place, I would feel worried but I would not prevent you from going, my student.”

Genji leaned on his hand, elbow on a knee, and sighed. “I do know that. I am aware that my worry is… irrational. I trust you, and I have faith that nothing bad will happen. I had not felt such worry before, but the idea of someone interested in you enough to wish to kidnap you in an attempt to entice you to Talon… it is difficult not to worry. Forgive me, master.”

“There is nothing to forgive, Genji. Your worry is still a way for you to show your care, and I would never fault you for that. I might have been your master–” he ignored Genji’s rebuke ‘you still are’, “–but we are first and foremost friends, and as Winston was happy to reassure me earlier, we are all part of this family now, mismatched as we all are. I am equally worried whenever you are assigned to missions, and I would be greatly upset if something happened to you during one. You have also respected my decision to go, even as you attempt to dissuade me, so I know your worry does not overshadow your rationality, either way.”

Genji let out a deep sigh, shaking his head softly. “Are you always able to think things rationally, master? Has there been a time when something has clouded your senses, if only a bit?” he teased, though it was not the first time he’d asked such thing, and was perfectly aware that Zenyatta was not always as in control as it appeared.

He had, after all, been present when the news about Mondatta’s death had reached Zenyatta. He had been there for the fallout, afterwards, in more ways than one.

Zenyatta hummed, forehead array flickering in amusement, though inside he felt a stir of guilt at the thought of Akande –the one lapse in judgement he had yet to come to terms with. “Indeed.”

With that, he slipped his new pants on, and then the shirt. It hung a little big on him, but it hid his uncovered circuits well enough, and unless someone got close enough to hug his waist –which would not happen– no one would notice anything amiss.

“I will be fine, Genji.”

He moved closer, placing one hand delicately on Genji’s visor, and then clinked their foreheads together, amused when Genji stuttered before leaning close, his mala still hovering at his side.

“Yes, master. I know.” A pause, then “but I will go with Jesse and Fareeha and wait for you outside, regardless.”

Zenyatta smiled, his forehead array burning brightly for a second, echoed by Genji’s green visor, then he pulled away. His auricular sensors noticed the sound of footsteps, and he gently nudged Genji, recalling his mala and sending it back to the bed.

“Hey, Zenyatta, I wanted to check up on you!”

Lena stumbled against the entrance of his room, all smiles and long, thin limbs, and Zenyatta turned to look at her with a little wave. “Hello there,” he greeted, still smiling. Instead of placing his hands in front of him in his usual pose, he hesitated then slipped his hands inside his pants’ pockets.

Lena blinked, looking at him up and down before her eyes grew wide and her smile did the same. “Ah! The clothes! Have to say, you look good! Tell me again why you never wear a shirt?” she still waited by the door, mindful of Zenyatta’s privacy, but when he motioned for her to come inside she did so happily, plopping down on his bed and waving at Genji, who waved back, albeit with less enthusiasm.

“It is a personal choice,” he replied, feeling the start of a chuckle bubble its way up to his synth. “But thank you.”

Lena leaned on her hands, elbows on her knees, and wriggled her toes contentedly. “You should consider wearing more shirts anyway! Bet Hana’d like dragging you ‘round to buy some… bet we could make it a group date even!” she tapped one finger against her chin, looking thoughtful. “Emily’d want to come too for sure…”

With a soft chuckle, Zenyatta called up his mala, which he regrouped around his neck for a few precious seconds, then he directed them to a corner of the room. He could not have them with him for obvious reasons, but he’d already discussed the matter with Jesse, and he would bring them with him and Fareeha later on.

“Fashion is not something I’m partial to, you know, but it is not just that. It is the same reason as to why I leave my circuits exposed.”

“Oh?” Lena looked intrigued, while Genji, having asked similar questions himself in the first months of his tentative bond with Zenyatta, simply smiled under his visor. “Isn’t that a thing the Shambali do?”

He nodded. “It is. The Shambali believe that exposing delicate parts of themselves serve as a message to others that we do not wish them any harm.” He pressed one hand against his midriff, now covered, to indicate where he’d taken off much of his covering. “We do not invite violence towards us, but appearing in such a way shows our unwillingness to cause discord. I have left the Shambali, but that belief has remained with me, and I do not provoke unduly violence, though I do fight to protect myself or others if there is need to.”

“Though as I remember you telling me a long while ago,” Genji interjected, his tone smug, “that makes your opponents underestimate you. Always use your enemy’s lack of knowledge against them. Is that not correct, master?”

Lena appeared startled by that, then she chuckled, openly amused. “Ain’t that the way?” she agreed, pointing to herself. “Making folks look twice when I zoom around and kick their butts!”

“Well, that is quite the point,” Zenyatta smiled again, hands still in his pockets, and straightened his back. “Do I seem like a normal omnic to your eyes?”

Lena and Genji exchanged a glance, and though it was not apparent considering Genji had his visor on, they were both grinning.

“Yeah, I think you’ll do,” she winked at him.

Zenyatta folded his hands back in front of him, forehead array bright, mood dancing with happiness, and allowed himself to bask in their company in preparation for his mission.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, second chapter :D

**Chapter 02**

 

Zenyatta absently brushed one hand down his front, wiping away invisible dirt from his pristine attire, and kept his eyes trained on the floor in front of him.

The party had started around thirty minutes earlier, when the guests had begun to arrive; all omnic workers had been given instructions in the afternoon while they were setting up everything by a few disgruntled, agitated attendants, but before the party officially started, they had been herded into the kitchens for a few reminders. They had been divided in small groups, each to work on specific tasks for the rest of the evening.

There were not as many of them as Zenyatta had thought –probably for the best, considering he would not have been picked if Hartstrom’s place hadn’t been understaffed– but that meant they were stretched thin, and would be strictly controlled to make sure nothing went wrong. The overall security was also pretty tight, the villa surrounded by armed men, but Zenyatta had only been given a cursory glance as he entered the complex as the guards were instructed to only care about the human guests and possible troublemakers.

Just as he had predicted, though the attendants had been strict and unforgiving while dealing with the omnic workers, none had taken any interest in his presence, nor asked him who he was. To them he was a simple omnic among many, forgettable and nameless.

There was much to do, and at first Zenyatta had done his best to keep his head down and do as requested. Unnoticed and uncared for, he had mapped the perimeter of the villa, making sure to detail where every exit was, just in case, but he had realised, as he stood among the other workers, that he had an obvious disadvantage that he could not hide. He was quite tall –taller than most other omnics present, and taller than probably a lot of the guests as well.

Zenyatta was rather used to making himself look smaller and less threatening, but the man instructing the workers had been clear on that point –slouching was not to be accepted, and anyone daring to act in an improper way would be subject to punishment. Wanting to avoid getting caught in the spotlight, Zenyatta had no other option but to straighten his back and look bland and dull.

The uniform fit, at least, and it hid his uncovered parts rather well. The attire was brown, with a white shirt and a brown tie, and a white towel over one arm completed the look. Even the cooks had to wear the same thing –there were not enough of them, so they had to be able to intervene if necessary.

When the guests started to arrive, greeted and led to the main area of the party by the human butlers, Zenyatta was given a tray and ordered to serve refreshments.

For a while, Zenyatta was left on his own. He smoothly moved among the guests, offering drinks without a word until his tray was empty, then returning to the buffet table for refills. Repetitive but time consuming, Zenyatta had all the time he needed to observe all the incoming invitees, optical receptors zooming quietly on their faces, searching, recording, analyzing.

He did get a few odd glances for his height, but he was quickly forgotten.

The only moment he had been under scrutiny had happened right at the start of the party while the supervisor had them standing in a row, instructing them on what to do. The man had stared at him up and down, making a small disgusted sound at the sight of his face plate.

“Keep your head down while you serve drinks,” the man had told him, a clear edge in his voice, “your face plate is scratched and ruined. If we weren’t in need, I wouldn’t have accepted someone with your looks to work as a waiter. It is unfortunate our standards have to be so low on such an important night, so you will mark my words and try not to displease me, omnic.”

“Yes, sir,” Zenyatta had made sure to keep his tone polite and even, but the man’s words did not bother him.

It was true his exterior looked weathered, but he was not interested in presenting himself any other way, and as long as he had the chance to finish his job, it would not really matter.

He’d left the kitchens without waiting for the man to address him again, his steps measured as he walked through empty corridors and to the main area.

The compound was large, with incredibly tall ceilings and archways, and it screamed opulence; anywhere Zenyatta’s optical receptors focused, there were rich tapestries, intricate and ornate columns, and expensive looking statues and decorations. There were heavy chairs with plush, satin cushions and carved designs on their backs and sturdy tables with gold lacquer, and paintings on the walls that did not have windows. Even the drapes were expensive, silk trimmed with gold.

The tables were covered with silk cloths and full of delicate looking plates of pastries and other expensive delicacies, and there were a few omnics preparing smaller portions to offer to the guests, who barely spared a glance to the workers, too busy walking and chatting with one another to look anywhere else.

The party was not restricted to a single room, but considering the size of the villa, it was spread over the length of an entire wing, though the wide corridors and halls made it easy to connect all areas, allowing guests to mingle and walk around as they pleased.

There were many balcony doors, some with stone staircases that led down to the vast gardens outside, that Zenyatta had inspected in the afternoon; the buildings surrounding the villa were far enough that it would take sharp eyes to notice the figures of Jesse, Genji and Fareeha, donning her armour, settled on the roof of one of them. Knowing they were there, even if he could not see them, had the effect of strengthening Zenyatta’s determination to complete his mission.

So far, Zenyatta had only been able to make a quick headcount, as the guests were still arriving, and the numbers were unexpectedly high, though it was no surprise.

Talon had an excellent reach, and most people at the party were on the upper end of society –the kind of bored, posh people who had nothing to do and did not care about much else other than themselves and their entertainment, easily fooled by some pretty words.

Unfortunately, their numbers also counted a few omnics, much to Zenyatta’s dismay.

He wondered if Hartstrom treated those rich omnics with the same contempt, or if their status and money made them different in his eyes –he also wondered, with a regretful twist in his core, whether those omnics could be talked to. Alas it was not the right time, or the right place, for him to attempt to reach out.

So far, he had been able to match only three people from the database list that Winston had given him. There were mostly names of those they suspected were aiding Talon, but too many of the guests were an incognita, and Zenyatta’s mission was to find out how many were true recruits, how many were mere guests invited to a posh gala night, and how many were going to be ensnared soon.

He would have to be more proactive if he wanted to get more names by the end of the night.

Zenyatta moved through the crowd, once again assessing the number of guests. There were a few more arriving from the main entrance, accompanied by one of the supervisors. Trying to look busy, he reached the closest buffet table and poured champagne into a set of crystal flutes, aided by one of the other omnics.

“I could bring out more bottles from the kitchens if you are running low,” he warned them, and received a vague, faint nod in answer. The other omnic’s forehead array was faint and dull, blinking on and off, and it made Zenyatta’s core clench in pain at the sight, aware that they had yet to flicker with self-awareness.

The practice of buying and employing omnics with no self-awareness was still common, as omnics did not have yet many rights, especially ones who could not speak up for themselves, but this kind of setting was not conductive for their progress, and Zenyatta felt worry slither up his circuits. Allowing people like Hartstrom to employ or ‘own’ omnics this way… no. It was not right. Yet, there was nothing he could do now, and his mission for OverWatch had a higher priority.

If there was enough time left by the time the party ended, he would try to reach out. No one deserved such not-life.

With a sigh he straightened his back and moved back through the crowd, offering the tray to whoever did not have a drink in hand already.

The soft, pleasant music in the background was not loud enough to cover the voices of guests talking among one another, but Zenyatta’s auricular receptors had to recalibrate a few times, recording up to four distinct conversations, sensors picking up a name here and there. It did not take up much of his processors to work through the chatter, so it did not slow down his pace as he expertly evaded a few of the guests before they could collide with him, not wanting to create any precedent to be singled out.

Just as he’d assured Genji, Winston and the others, the mission was proceeding without trouble.

With one last flute offered to a nearby woman with long, blond hair, Zenyatta took notice of a familiar face in the crowd, and stopped, his optical receptors zooming slightly in that direction. It was Alvaro Ortega, one of the few men OverWatch had been as of yet unable to connect to Talon, though there had been traces of donations done by him to various organizations that Winston knew were frontlines for Talon. The man was a known fashion designer with business all over the world, a rather eccentric person who kept to himself and yet had enough scandals to keep the tabloids busy. He was making his way through the crowd with a lady at his arm, neither appearing too enthused with the party yet. It was surprising to find him there, as the newspapers believed him to be still in New York for some gala or another, so his presence at Hartstrom’s party was as unexpected as it was suspicious.

Zenyatta knew, in that moment, that he would need to get closer to the man and his companion. His presence at the party meant nothing, as there were many people there with no connection to Talon, but if Zenyatta could catch something –anything– to connect Ortega with Talon, it would be the unexpected jackpot, as Jesse would say.

Making his way across the hall, steps quiet and even, Zenyatta did not divert his attention from the designer, not wanting to lose him in the crowd.

Luck, it seemed, was on his side.

Ortega directed his companion easily past the other guests, disregarding some of their attempts to speak with him, while greeting others without much drive, and they made their way across the main hall and to the side, slipping into one of the side corridors.

He followed them, mindful to keep himself from rushing, and noticed with little surprise that the corridor led down to a smaller room which ended in an archway. There were fewer guests in this part of the compound, and most seemed to be there mostly to observe some beautiful animal-shaped statues, and were not concerned with either Ortega or Zenyatta.

It was suspicious to see Ortega so at ease in Hartstrom’s house, more so considering he was singling himself out as he had just arrived to the party… definitely not typical for the man.

Zenyatta watched Ortega and his companion disappear past the archway and into another side room, which based on the layout of the building, was smaller and private, with just one door leading to it. Hesitating near the archway, Zenyatta recalibrated his sensors and wondered what he could do, not daring to follow the man inside to risk attracting attention on himself.

As he stood there, wondering what to do, one of Hartstrom’s personal attendants crossed the room, pausing momentarily near the statues to greet some of the guests there. Zenyatta looked around and moved closer to the wall, hoping that the big ornamental plants placed on both sides of the archway would make him look less conspicuous as he fiddled with the tray of champagne he still had in one hand.

With the other guests chattering near the statues, he had an excuse to be there if asked, but he did not wish to risk any trouble.

He did not need to worry –the attendant walked briskly past him without even a glance, moving through the archway to go meet with Ortega.

“Mister Ortega, Miss Maria, welcome!” the attendant greeted, and Zenyatta was grateful his auricular receptors were good enough to hear her from outside the room. “Mister Hartstrom will be here soon. He sent me to make sure you were comfortable and had everything you needed, and says he is sorry for the wait, but a few other guests require his presence. I hope it is of no consequence.”

Zenyatta’s fans whirred quietly as he fiddled with the tray he was holding. After a brief moment of hesitation, he lowered the intensity of his forehead array, turning it into a dull glow.

“It is no problem, we know how… tiresome it is to host such parties,” Ortega answered, and at his side the woman tittered in agreement. “The shipment arrived yesterday, and we have been particularly busy with that.”

The attendant hummed her acknowledgement, and Zenyatta wished he could see the man’s face from his position. From his tone alone, the shipment was something important, but he had no idea what it was.

“Mister Hartstrom will be very pleased. He has been awaiting for his order to arrive for a while already. He will discuss the matters for your payment soon. In the meantime, would you like some refreshments? I will make sure you are well served.”

Zenyatta hesitated, just a split second, before quickly starting to empty the tray of champagne glasses into the potted plants. If he appeared empty handed, and positioned himself where he could be seen, there was a chance he would be tasked to serve Ortega, and maybe…

“I would not mind one of those glasses before you dump them all on that plant, if you please.”

Zenyatta froze.

So intent in following the conversation between the attendant and Ortega, he had been oblivious to what was happening with the rest of the guests, though he had still allowed his recording devices to continue working in the off-chance of catching some stray name or incriminating mention. So caught up in fact that he had failed to notice someone approaching him.

Resisting the urge to tense, Zenyatta turned around, one last champagne glass still in his hand.

“I had not expected to find you here.” He kept his voice quiet enough, so that no one nearby could hear, though he realised that the rest of the guests, who had been admiring the statues until then, were now gone, leaving the room otherwise empty.

One big, rough hand reached out to grab the champagne from him, fingers caressing his own for a moment, and Zenyatta tilted his head up to meet Akande’s eyes, feeling a familiar flutter within his core at the sight.

A month since he’d last seen the man, and meeting face-to-face with him now… Zenyatta was not quite sure he could begin to express the way it made him feel.

Akande held the glass of champagne to his mouth, lips curled in a pleased, smug grin. He was dressed in a pristine white suit that fit him perfectly, tailored to his frame in ways Zenyatta noticed despite himself, and looked relaxed and at ease, as if he belonged there.

“Mundane events might not be my favourite pastime, and yet I have to attend, as you might expect. At least, the ones who are aware of my presence here do not seem to mind having me. It is from little things such as this that we’re allowed to make a greater change. Now you… _you_ , I had not expected to see _here_.”

Zenyatta tilted his head to the side, humming quietly. “Now, maybe my presence might not be as welcomed here as yours surely was, yet you’d expect to see _us_ here regardless.” He allowed a few seconds to tick by, then he added, “I am, after all, a mere waiter employed for tonight’s gala.”

“Is that so?” Akande chuckled, accepting Zenyatta’s wordplay for what it was, and tilted the glass enough to take a mouthful. Zenyatta’s optical receptors followed the motion, wondering for a split second why even such a small action could appear so appealing.

A moment of silence, then…

“Well, that is not quite what I meant when I hoped to see you wear different clothes other than the tattered rags you owned. It does not suit you.”

“What disappointment it must be, to see a worker’s attire rather than the rich fabrics you bestowed upon me on our last meeting,” Zenyatta curled his hands in front of himself before he could stop himself, the motion not fitting with the persona he had to portray. He uncrossed them and kept his hands at his sides instead, though the pose was anything but relaxed. “Alas, I am here for other reasons than to see you.”

“Yes, that is the true disappointment.” And Akande did sound too serious then, eyes narrowing for a moment, but Zenyatta did not wish to test his suspicions by opening up to the man’s aura, even when the answer was clear enough as it was.

“Well, we all have to face disappointments in our lives. Some more so than others.” Zenyatta wanted to step away from him, but the wall was too close, and he did not wish to find himself once again trapped by Akande. His sensors whirred, analysing, tracing what could be the quickest route to one of the exits.

“Please, you do not need to inconvenience yourself by seeking to run.” The tilt of Akande’s lips betrayed his amusement. “I do not wish to see what would happen to the guards if I called them upon you.”

Zenyatta’s forehead array flickered darker for a moment. Considering. “You would not expose me? After all, you do know where my allegiance lays.”

Taking a step forwards, erasing what little distance had existed between them, Akande looked down at Zenyatta, the smirk on his face softening slightly, a wrinkle on his brow.

“We are both here on a job, are we not? It would not be conductive of me to… disrupt this night needlessly.”

Zenyatta hummed, voice box whirring quietly, head tilted to the side, optical receptors never leaving Akande’s face. So close –it made his sensors flare up in familiar recognition. “Why, that sounds as if you do not see me as a threat.”

The chuckle that rippled through Akande’s frame was again a familiar, pleasant sound. Zenyatta had… well. He had missed it. He had missed Akande’s presence, and the constant challenge he posed, in more ways than one.

“A threat you might be, but not an unwelcome one. It is OverWatch that I do not fear, not when it is so small, and pinched. Bring as much information to them as you wish, seek to hinder Talon if you can, but do not deny that OverWatch’s reach is… minimal, as is. It has undeniably talented, strong members, and yet…” Akande spread his arms. “Do you see this? It is but one of the people we have who support us. OverWatch does not seek a change, it seeks to prevent disruption, and yet… you are not enough to stop Talon. Thus, I fear nothing.”

Again, Zenyatta had to concede that Akande was right. He had thought much the same, though with far less glee than Akande was sporting, but it stung to see his worries confirmed by someone on the opposite side.

Zenyatta was but one, and OverWatch was stretched thin, so thin already, with not enough information, not enough reach nor members, and Talon had informants and power way above anything OverWatch could get, not unless it got sanctioned again by the United Nations.

And yet…

“You should try not to underestimate OverWatch. We might be just kindling now, but the ashes of the past organization are not yet gone, nor will they be smothered. Not by Talon, nor by anyone else.”

He spoke quietly, but there was strength in his voice as he thought about Winston, about Tracer, how they had worked to call together as many members as they could, latching on the older ones who agreed to come, inviting more, seeking out to make connections, working overtime to bring the rightful change that the world needed –so unlike Talon’s goal. So unlike Akande’s.

Akande leaned down, lips still pulled upwards in that infuriating smirk, eyes dark, until they were inches from one another.

“Such conviction, such fire… yet such foolish hope.”

Zenyatta felt yet again the stir of want in his chest –the kind that only Akande’s presence could elicit in him, make him crave something that he could have, that was so close to him, and he watched, forehead array dim, as Akande’s lips parted and he inched even closer…

There was noise from the archway and Zenyatta, startled, jolted backwards. Footsteps, leaving the side room.

Zenyatta reacted quickly, distancing himself from Akande and slipping past him and away from the wall. Akande did not stop him, waiting to see what he would do.

The attendant left the side room with the same furrowed brow she’d sported while going in, but the moment she spotted Zenyatta hovering close by, she snapped her fingers. “Omnic. Bring the man and his companion inside that room some refreshments, and make it fast – _or else_.”

She barely spared a second glance at him, choosing to make her way towards where the rest of the guests were, probably too focused on returning to her boss to even notice Akande standing there –though it may be that she’d not recognised him, in her haste to leave.

Either way, it suited Zenyatta just fine.

His body was thrumming with static, his core aching at the missed kiss. The sparkle of tension between them had ended in nothing, but he chose to ignore the disappointment.

He turned to look at Akande again, preparing himself to leave, only to falter at the look on his face –not quite anger, a furrowed brow and a downwards tilt of his lips, so reminiscent to Zenyatta of a pout that he was left almost baffled. “You did not think I would indulge you, I hope,” he chose to say, feeling an inkling of amusement inside his core. “As you said, we both have a job to complete, and I was just assigned a new task. I better… obey.”

Akande’s shoulders twitched, his expression stormy, and Zenyatta found himself suppressing a chuckle at the loss of control, which was unexpected coming from Akande.

It was a daring situation as it was –a famous, well known guest conversing amiably with an omnic servant– but thankfully, most of the guests were still too busy on the other side of the hall to notice.

The spell between them broken, Zenyatta knew he’d better move fast. “Forgive me for the hasty goodbye, but I am required elsewhere,” he murmured, quietly, as he turned around and walked away, leaving Akande behind.

He had been offered the opening he needed –hopefully, he would be able to stick around Ortega enough to record something incriminating about the mysterious shipment Hartstrom had bought off him.

That did not erase the disappointment from his mind, nor the way his body wished to return to Akande’s side, but it was not quite as important, and the amusement at seeing Akande scorned was enough to make his footsteps light as he walked towards the party area.

Returning to the more crowded area was like being doused by a bucket of cold water, and Zenyatta had to quickly recalibrate his auricular receptors to a lower setting, as he’d adjusted them to focus solely on the conversation between the attendant and Ortega, but now his senses were overwhelmed by the cacophony of sounds, the chatter and the soft background music.

He expertly waded through the crowd, ignored and unseen by everyone, but as he made his way to the buffet area, he became aware of the steady, imposing presence of Akande following him, the weight of his stare on his back, heavy and unwavering.

So Akande had no intention to let him be.

There was a moment, as he passed by a small group of people, where he heard one of them murmur Akande’s name with reverent awe, and a woman surged up to stop him, surprising enough that Akande was halted mid-step and had to look at her. Grateful to have Akande’s eyes away from him, Zenyatta hurried forth.

Enough distance between them, Zenyatta finally allowed himself a fraction of a second to relax, relief filling his processors.

He would not perform well enough under such constant scrutiny, and Akande’s presence was… distracting.

It was worrisome how he could make Zenyatta forget about… well. Everything else but him.

Zenyatta gathered a tray of food and a bottle of wine with three glasses, already considering that Hartstrom would soon join Ortega and his companion, and after a moment of hesitation he picked up another tray, expecting to be stopped on the way back and not wishing to have to disappoint other guests and call attention to himself.

As he’d anticipated, some of the guests gravitated towards him as he made his way back to the side room. Zenyatta offered the second tray to them without a word, inclining his head and allowing them to pick from it, preceding their wishes and moving on, forgettable and silent.

With a few seconds to spare and the second tray halved in content, Zenyatta paused before entering the archway, only to freeze as he felt familiar footsteps come to a stop behind him.

“I thought you’d found someone to keep you distracted,” he murmured, not wishing for anyone to hear.

“There is nothing more intriguing than you at this party, and unfortunately you are not an invited guest, so I am left to follow you around like a fool.” There was a weird edge to Akande’s tone that made Zenyatta turn around to look at him. “You have done this before.”

With a chuckle, Zenyatta expertly tilted the second tray towards him in a clear invitation, hand steady. Akande watched him, then leaned forwards and took some time to select a snack, bringing it to his mouth, tongue flicking to lick the soft cream tart on the surface of the cracker before pushing it past his lips, swallowing the treat.

Zenyatta found himself looking away, the sight appealing enough to be distracting.

“I have,” he chose to say instead, focusing on Akande’s question and yet not giving him a satisfactory answer. “It was not something Winston had any prior knowledge on, but it does result in a convincing act, do you not agree?”

Akande hummed, lifting his hand up to caress the curve of Zenyatta’s face plate, on the seam of his mouth piece. Zenyatta was startled by the unexpected, daring touch –it was a quiet part of the hall, away from sight and from the rest of the guests, and yet…

“You, my monk, are a jack of all trades.” Akande’s voice was low, and pleased, and entirely out of place. The slow, growing smirk on his lips also was. “I could not pick the one treat I desire the most, but to be fair, it was not offered to me on a tray. Should I wait until you are done to take my fill?”

The tone was unmistakeable, and Zenyatta felt a shiver run down his spine, from sensor to sensor, sending a flare of anticipation to his modesty panel.

“How… inconvenient, that work has to come between us,” he said in lieu of an answer, his tone taking a teasing lilt. “You shall have to wait, but it is not a given. After all, neither of us is here for fun.”

There was something incredibly self-indulgent in allowing himself this _banter_ –Zenyatta could call it flirting and it would not be a lie– and although the situation was all but appealing, and Akande’s presence had the unfortunate setback of making him forget where they were, Zenyatta still felt considerably pleased. Akande might have had the upper hand before, with Zenyatta captive yet willing, but this… this was even-footed, and the wariness he might have felt around the man who was Doomfist was all but gone. All that was left was…

The knowledge that Akande was still bent on pursuing him, and the fact that his interest had not waned in the month they had not seen one another. Zenyatta, on his part, had spent that month researching into him, which was testament of his own interest.

If Zenyatta blinked and forgot who Akande was, on which side he belonged to, he could even fool himself into believing he could have this. The novelty of being the centre of someone’s interest, of learning more about him, acknowledging his attraction and fuelling it…

And yet.

With a twist of his wrist, Zenyatta shifted the second tray and moved closer, erasing the distance between himself and Akande, though with both hands full he could do nothing. He simply looked up into his eyes for a second, his forehead array glinting in the lowered lights of the room, before turning around and stepping away from him, in silence.

He had no idea how long he could have this, how long to allow himself to have this, but now was not quite the right time to consider such things. He had a mission, and he needed to focus on that.

He took a soft, artificial breath that he did not need, then walked through the archway, leaving Akande behind once more, this time with no parting words.

The side room was not quite as big as he had thought, and while comfortable, it was also not soundproof, which was why it was so distant from the rest of the party. It had the same kind of furniture as the rest of the villa, as far as Zenyatta could see, but it had a cozier, more personal feeling, with small sofas covered in red velvet pillows and a small table in the middle.

Ortega and his companion were seated comfortably on one of the sofas as Zenyatta entered the room, and they glanced up, only to look away in disinterest when they noticed he was not Hartstrom.

“Would you like some refreshments?” he asked, voice an octave lower and lacking any inflection. He had no idea how familiar Ortega was with omnics, but he did not want to give him any suspicion.

Ortega nodded sharply, not bothering with words or even thanking him.

He walked over and quietly offered both the man and his companion food from his tray before expertly popping the bottle of wine and serving two glasses, closing it again. Without a word, he positioned himself in a corner, anticipating the arrival of Hartstrom and keeping quiet.

Ortega and his companion –Maria, he recalled– clearly did not mind his presence, and completely forgot about him as they ate and talked in Spanish. Zenyatta knew enough of the language to understand they were gossiping and discussing unrelated business, but he kept recording nonetheless. He would delete everything unneeded later, but for now it was better to err on the side of caution.

It did not take long for Hartstrom to join his guests, and his presence made Zenyatta even more alert.

He was a tall man, with a short, cropped red beard and equally short hair, dressed in a pristine dark red suit. Zenyatta kept his facial plate studiously lowered, avoiding to look directly at the man, but his optical receptors did not need to look that way to record everything, including the way his eyes passed by Zenyatta, lips curling upwards in distaste before focusing on his guests and dismissing his presence entirely.

How convenient for him, that the man hated his kind so.

Zenyatta moved towards him without words, forehead array dulled almost to nothing, and poured him a glass before mechanically moving back to the corner, this time choosing to stay closer to the door.

The meeting went on quickly, and entirely in Spanish, though Hartstrom’s accent bled through a lot, and he did not sound as refined as Ortega and Maria did, though neither seemed to react outwardly at that, except for fingers twitching around their glasses at some mangled words.

Zenyatta was incredibly grateful for his luck –the shipment Ortega was going to deliver was not quite in the realm of Talon operations, but it was still illegal import, and thus could be investigated and with enough luck it could put Hartstrom under the eyes of the UN. If the man was arrested, it would make a dent in the copious amounts of money that Talon received by a huge percentage, and it would be quite a hit.

Amusing as it was, the shipment entirely consisted in rare breeds, often used illegally for extreme fashion purposes. To find a man known worldwide as a fashion icon trading animals like this… it was, indeed, a disappointment.

The conversation moved to other, more pleasant, subjects, albeit halted by Hartstrom’s poor vocabulary, and Zenyatta had to advance and refill their glasses more than once, always doing so with his head down and his forehead array as dim as possible, carefully recording every word and action of the three participants.

It was boring, but necessary.

When the bottle he had brought with him was emptied, he quietly left the room, relief cursing through him as he did so. He saw no reason to go back afterwards –there was enough on his memory log to use against Ortega and Hartstrom– but he still had to try and gather more names for Winston before the night was out, and he had already wasted enough time on a single target.

Once outside, Zenyatta allowed himself a moment of weakness and shifted to press his back against the nearby wall, shoulders slumping as he felt a charge of static pass through his circuits, signal that he had been overly tense during the entire ordeal.

There was no warning flashing through his sensors, though, so he did not worry.

Though outwardly calm, Zenyatta had been aware of the circumstances of this job, and just how he had to keep his head down at all times in case something happened.

He was just glad things were proceeding without problems, though he would be glad to see the mission end.

Running a diagnostic on his system, Zenyatta pondered over his options. He could take a few minutes to compose himself, wait for Ortega and Maria to return to the party and for Hartstrom to leave as well before following them, or he could head directly to the kitchens and mingle with the other omnics, ensuring his cover. Both options would allow him a moment to recalibrate himself and focus on his undercover job, so it was just a matter of which choice to pick.

In the end, he did not get the chance to choose either.

“I do not like having to wait, my monk.”

Zenyatta moved away from the wall, his synth making a startled noise, only to find Akande looking at him from one of the armchairs in a corner, partially hidden by an ornamental plant. Zenyatta’s forehead array powered up at the sight, surprised to see him there.

“Were you waiting for me?”

“Of course.” With a small, dismissive hand wave, Akande stood up. “This party has nothing that could keep my attention, nor did I wish to be here, so considering I found a much better entertainment, it was obvious that would be the best choice.”

“Hmmm, I wonder what Mister Hartstrom would have to say about that,” Zenyatta kept his voice low, aware that they were still far too close to the side room to be safe, yet could not help but flicker Akande a small smile through his forehead array. “Such an esteemed guest admitting to boredom at his party… truly, a breach of etiquette. What a dismay.”

Akande’s shoulders shook in quiet mirth, though no sound left his lips. “Then he should take better care of his guests, else he will not find himself in quite as good standing with us.”

“The other guests appear to find this party quite alright, especially Mister Ortega and his companion,” Zenyatta tilted his head to the side, motioning for the side room. “Perhaps a change of attitude on your part is advisable.”

There was no reply, Akande simply moving forwards, towering over Zenyatta. When one of Akande’s hands moved to take away the tray from him, he did not protest, nor did he say anything when he felt Akande’s fingers caress down the curve of his neck, then lower, settling at the base of his spine.

“You keep on teasing, yet you are aware of how easily it would be to expose you to Hartstrom,” Akande murmured, tugging him closer. “Perhaps it _would_ prove entertaining to watch you defeat his guards. It might offer quite the pleasant show, and I am sure a few guests would think the same.”

Despite the words, Zenyatta had no doubt that Akande would not do as he threatened, though his though processes were far more concerned with the heat of Akande’s hand on his lower back, and with his other hand sliding down his arm to wrap around his wrist.

“As entertaining as you feel that might be, I will have to refuse,” Zenyatta made to move away, though his tone was teasing, “I just might leave this party earlier to avoid such dangers.”

The hand around his wrist tightened, though not enough to hurt, one thumb idly caressing the wires at the base of his palm. It was a familiar, soothing touch, made more distracting by the way Akande’s other hand was trying to sneak inside the jacket of his work suit.

“I do not wish to part with you so soon, when I have not seen you for a month, my monk.” Akande moved, tugging Zenyatta with him, further away from the guests are and to one of the balconies.

Zenyatta thought to stop him, but the angle of the balcony was on the opposite side of where his teammates were camping, and there was no danger of them noticing.

He had no plans for them to know, not when he was not sure what there could be to say about his involvement with Akande, about how easily he found himself entranced by him, but the idea of keeping such a thing secret was still unpleasant, though needed.

They would not understand –or they would think Zenyatta too forgiving, wishing to try and aid someone who did not deserve or wish to be saved, when that was only part of it, and not even the bigger one.

The air outside was cool against his face plate and sensors. Zenyatta had not noticed how warm the inside of Hartstrom’s villa was, but the change was pleasant. The balcony Akande had picked was a secluded, small one right above Hartstrom’s private pool, and as Zenyatta looked down, he could see the calm waters below glinting under the street lights of the park.

 “It was a wish of mine to bring you to one such event, though… not this one, and certainly not one held by an unsavoury man,” Akande murmured to him.

Zenyatta tilted his head up to look at him, optical receptors recalibrating to the dimmer lights.

“I thought you’d enjoy such people, for all they do for your… cause.”

Akande’s shoulders shook in laughter, a quiet huff leaving his lips. He tugged Zenyatta closer, spun them around, his chest pressed against Zenyatta’s front chassis.

“That, my monk, is a lie, and such an obvious one. There are few I truly like, but rich men who cower and pay their way to where they feel there is more power are… pathetic. They have their use, but that is all. Disposable, weak. There are other things worth my attention, and none inside this villa have any of those –except one, and you are here with me, which is all I could hope for tonight, and more.”

Zenyatta hummed, allowing Akande to spin him around, amused by his behaviour yet weirdly pleased.

It was easy, like this –in the darkness outside the villa, away from the music, from the chaotic chatter of the other guests, away from inquisitive looks and danger– to forget who Akande was, why they were both there.

Yet another stolen moment, and one Zenyatta should not have allowed, and yet…

And yet.

Such was his traitorous want, swayed and attracted, enraptured by a man who built his empire on the promise of chaos.

“I have missed you.” Akande murmured, leaning forwards.

Zenyatta tilted his head up, his forehead array casting a pale teal over Akande’s face, on his lips, reflecting in his eyes, and hummed.

“Is that so?”

“How cruel, to tease me without returning the sentiment.”

“Hmmm. I wonder. You have been a rather persistent guest in my mind, that much is true. I have had… time… to look into you.”

“Is that so?” Akande’s lips twitched in a smirk, mirroring his own words back. They were close, so close, Akande’s lips a mere inch away from the seam of Zenyatta’s mouth piece, his hot breath misting the polished metal. “I wonder what you might have found.”

“I found… a young man with the same look in his eyes that you have, though far less years on his back. You were quite attractive, even back then.”

With a chuckle, Akande finally gave in, pressing his lips against Zenyatta’s mouth piece –softly, for a second, parting them slightly before moving away. “Hmmm. Anything else?”

“Do you enjoy hearing me talk about you?” Zenyatta was somewhat distracted, though, by the warmth left behind by Akande’s lips, and by the craving he felt inside him as he wished for a repeated offence. Distracted by Akande’s hand around his wrist, and by the one that had slipped past his jacket to trail up and down every node of his spine. He could feel fingers edge around the sensors on his back, light enough that he was aware of their presence, making him want more of that touch as well.

He wished for all of it, and then more.

“It is flattering to know I am predominant in your mind, yes. It is doubtful that you will find anything of use, though –all I was made me what I am now, the same as you.”

“Yet I know nothing of you, save for what you choose to share. Do I not get to learn about the man seeking to _corrupt_ me? You have had enough time to learn about me, and I only wish to do the same.”

Again, Akande laughed, though this time the sound was louder, amused and full, his chest vibrating with it as he tugged Zenyatta closer, lips trailing a path down the edge of his mouth piece, then lower, seeking the same spot under his neck that he was familiar with.

Zenyatta arched his back and tilted his head to the side, just as willing to aid Akande in his pursue as he was to return the kisses, flares of omnic energy vibrating and flickering like static across the surface of his face plate to caress and sting Akande’s lips as he continued his descent.

“If you wish to learn about me, all you need to do is ask –though yet again, if you seek to… _save_ me, you might find yourself disappointed.”

“Is that not what makes this interesting?”

Akande paused, lips hovering on the underside of Zenyatta’s exposed throat, and Zenyatta’s synth crackled with a soft, needy sound. “Yes,” he murmured, pleased and grinning, the feral look in his eyes never lessening in intensity, “I’d say it is.”

He kissed Zenyatta’s throat, sending small sparkles of pleasure up to his brain, sensory input humming at the touch, and he felt Zenyatta’s hand clutch at Akande’s chest, wrinkling his pristine attire in an effort to keep him close.

His lips, relentless, continued to map the underside of Zenyatta’s throat, delicately at first then more and more demanding, knowing what to do to drag out soft, breathless moans from Zenyatta’s synth.

The vibration of omnic energy flickering to his lips made it difficult for Akande to focus –the tingling spread to the skin around his lips and to his tongue, heightening the sensitivity of any spot it reached. Zenyatta was responsive, pliant in his arms only enough to make Akande want more, body shivering and pushing against his own, demanding more.

Akande parted his lips, tugging at an exposed wire with his teeth, and he felt the crackle of omnic energy caress him, spurring him on. He sucked on the smallest sensor to the side, where the curve of Zenyatta’s mouth piece met the base of his neck, and Zenyatta twitched in his grip, a gasp leaving his synth, soft yet loud enough for Akande to hear.

He pushed Zenyatta backwards, wanting to have him against the wall, and Zenyatta resisted with a jolt, the hand wrapped in his jacked now pushing him back.

“We cannot continue,” Zenyatta murmured, his voice unsteady and crackling. Not as in control as he hoped to be, not as secure in his words as he should.

Akande pulled back, enough that he could stare into his optical receptors, pleased to see Zenyatta’s forehead array flickering erratically, an obvious sign of his loss of control. “Is there a reason in particular why we should?” he asked, pressing their foreheads together.

He did not want to stop –not when he would have to return to a bland, tasteless and boring party– but Zenyatta appeared determined, even as omnic energy still flickered to caress Akande’s lips.

“You provide too enticing a diversion,” Zenyatta’s voice was soft, and shaky. Even as he tried to stop, he found himself unwilling to. “But I have been tasked with a job, and the night is still young.”

Akande growled softly, showing his displeasure by tightening his hold on Zenyatta’s body.

“I feel I would like to receive an incentive if you truly want me to stop,” he murmured, stealing another kiss against the cool, smooth surface of his face plate. “I am not on your side, I have much to gain in keeping you here with me.”

He managed to push Zenyatta back a step, then another, insistent and demanding, Zenyatta’s body almost melting in his arms before he regained his bearings and gasped, Akande’s fingers incredibly distracting as they caressed the sensors at the base of his spine.

“I find it unpleasant that we have not had any contact for the past month, and I do not desire to see this happen once again when you leave.” Akande pulled back, waiting until Zenyatta’s forehead array stabilized and his optical receptors focused on his face, recalibrating, “As I have told you, my intentions with you are clear and have not changed. I wish to court you.”

Zenyatta’s brain ticked slowly, processing Akande’s words, and once it did, his grip on Akande’s jacket grew slack. “What… what would this entail?”

“All I ask is for you to agree to be spoiled, my monk. I wish to make you see what life at my side is like. I wish to bring you out on a date, and spend time with you. As you wanted to know more about me, you would get that, as well. Agree to that, Zenyatta, and I shall leave you to your… job.”

“Surely you can agree it is not a viable option.” Zenyatta took a step away from him, grateful that Akande allowed him to go without restraining him. “We belong to opposite sides, and we are playing a dangerous game. I do not have the luxury not to care about whether my actions will bring OverWatch down.”

The chuckle that vibrated through Akande’s chest was amused and almost too loud in the silence surrounding them. “You worry, my monk, yet it is a baseless worry. Eventually you will concede, and then even your morals will have no basis to exist.”

“Yet they exist now, and dating you…” Zenyatta hesitated, hands shaking slightly, contemplating the offer that looked far too appealing, his core thrumming. “How could I take such a risk?”

“As you said earlier –is it not what makes it entertaining?” Akande’s tone lowered into a rumbling murmur, leaning down again, breathing against Zenyatta’s auricular receptors. “Is it not a risk worth taking, if you truly believe you can save me?”

“You are awfully sure of your own ability to win me over, when I have given you no indication that it is even possible,” Zenyatta murmured back.

The proposition was enticing, but for the wrong reasons –not for the chance to have more time to learn about Akande, and lead him gently on a less destructive path, but for the possibility to spend time with him. Indulging, yet again, in something he should not wish to have.

Was that not already a sign of corruption?

“That is because I look at you and see someone I wish to have at my side, and I do not care whether Talon approves –or _OverWatch_. This has nothing to do with either of them, as it is a mere greed of mine.” Akande pressed his lips over the junction above Zenyatta’s pistons, mouth open slightly, then retreated. “Do let me tempt you, Zenyatta, as I am free to do so –you are allowed to want something for yourself that has nothing to do with your wish to better the world.”

“That…” Zenyatta tilted his head away from his lips, tone low and tinged with amused bitterness, “is a lie. With you, with me… everything has to do with the side of the conflict we belong to.”

“Your morals hold you back.”

“And yours offer no failsafe.”

Akande grinned, unabashed, and Zenyatta found himself chuckling at the absurdity of the situation.

Here he was, exchanging casual banter –flirting– with a wanted man on a balcony of a villa belonging to a Talon supporter. Zenyatta had truly not expected to find himself in such a situation at any point in his life.

Akande’s expression softened from smugness to something almost gentler, then he shook his head and let Zenyatta go, taking a few steps back before circling around him and walking towards the balcony’s window entrance.

Left behind without warning, Zenyatta found his chassis missing the warmth of Akande’s body pressed against his own, fingers curling into a fist to prevent himself from reaching out.

“I am not a cruel man, my monk,” Akande glanced at him, tilting his head back before pushing the balcony window open. “I am aware I have asked something… difficult, and it would be a lie to say your morals are not part of what attracted me to you. As you said… the night is young. I hope you can consider my words, and have a proper answer for me before you decide to leave the party.”

Surprised at the unexpected turnaround, Zenyatta watched Akande enter the villa again, and for a second, he was left on the balcony alone, circuits buzzing.

Then he moved, quickly, stepping back inside as well, and looked around, optical receptors quickly recalibrating, and saw Akande’s back as he walked away from him.

He had no idea why he surged forwards to stop him, nor what his answer could be, but he did not wish for Akande to leave like this, and the twist inside his core was unpleasant to him.

Uncaring of where he was, Zenyatta rushed to Akande and reached out, fingers wrapping around his wrist to stop him.

Akande paused at that and twisted to look at him, expression a mixture of surprise and pleasure, lips parted to speak–

“ _What_ is the meaning of _this_.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this last chapter, this story draws to an end.
> 
> That doesn't mean the series does, though. Next part is supposed to be a two-set related to Akande and Zenyatta having a date or two, or it could be a related set of very short ficlets detailing smaller scenes that cannot fit in longer chapters (Akande's first look into Zenyatta, for example, of the team's reaction to Zenyatta returning safely home, or Genji and Zenyatta discussing stuff as they meditate). Either way it might take a bit to gather all the stuff I need to write in orderly fashion.
> 
> (after the thing above though, the plot takes a dive and the story might take a serious turn... hehehe)
> 
> ANYWAY, i would like to take a moment to thank all the nice people who left kudos here or liked the chapters on tumblr, and an even greater thank you to all those who left a comment here or reblogged and left nice tags on tumblr (because i live for that sweet, sweet validation and it does wonders to my mood and my inspiration to keep going!)
> 
> so thank you for all your support, and i'll see you soon!

**Chapter 03**

 

There were many things Zenyatta had learned over the course of his life.

He had spent years shaping himself and seeking a path that could resonate with his soul, taking many chances in hopes it could lead him where he wished to be.

For a while, he’d travelled and learned from others, after coming to terms with having a self. Then, he had spent years with the Shambali, until he’d met Genji, and afterwards he’d left, taking all he had learned with him.

If asked, Zenyatta would freely admit that he felt his journey was still ongoing, and walking on such path in the past had not been easy; he had needed to learn to be patient, to control himself and think first rather than rush into things, a careful balance between being too distant, not involved enough, and allowing things to cloud his judgement.

There were still times, even now, when he had to make a split decision, when time was essential and he had to act fast, and yet he still managed to keep in control, knowing how impulsive decisions could be fatal.

Yet, since meeting Akande, Zenyatta had found himself in quite the opposite predicament.

Watching Akande turn his back to him and make to leave had caused a churning, unsettling jolt deep within Zenyatta’s circuits. Reacting to this, he had attempted to reach out and stop Akande, and in doing so, he had allowed himself to forget.

Forget that he was supposed to be undercover. Forget about the dangers if being found out. Forget what it would mean for him and for his team if he’d been discovered… simply because he had been so focused on Akande that he had lost sight of everything else.

“ _What_ is the meaning of _this_.”

The voice startled Zenyatta enough that he froze, fingers wrapped around Akande’s wrist, and his head snapped to the side.

Hartstrom was standing here, staring right at Zenyatta, his face contorted in anger.

Zenyatta had spent a long time with Akande on the balcony, and he had thought that Hartstrom would have by then returned to his other guests after completing the deal with Ortega. The thought that he could have lingered behind had not even occurred to him, his thoughts focused elsewhere.

He had been wrong.

He knew how this looked to an outsider –Zenyatta was posing as an omnic servant, had been instructed to keep his head down and not make a scene, or else. Yet, he had been caught acting improperly by Hartstrom himself. It was the kind of attitude that a man like Hartstrom would condemn from his own workers, worse still by one that was an omnic. No waiter would ever reach out to stop a guest by touching them, let alone grab them as Zenyatta had done. It was simply not done.

Taking a step back, Zenyatta released his hold on Akande’s wrist, circuits heating up in shame, all too aware that it was too late –he’d attracted the wrong kind of attention on himself.

Hartstrom advanced towards him, seething, his expression a cloud of fury, cheeks flushed in such rage that Zenyatta had no need to reach out with his senses to feel it.

In his haste to stop Akande, Zenyatta had lost track of himself and where he was, and the result was–

“How _dare_ you touch one of my guests, you _revolting_ pile of _trash._ ” Hartstrom’s voice wavered with the intensity of his anger, eyes narrowed and lips curled up in distaste, but all Zenyatta could think about was that this up close, the man was even shorter than he’d expected him to be. “Do you not know how to take your orders?!”

Zenyatta’s processors flickered, analysing the best course of action in a fraction of a second. If he kept quiet, allowed the man to rage at him, he would probably be allowed to leave without much fuss.

There was another possibility, of course, considering Hartstrom’s fury and his visible malice, but Zenyatta did not wish to endanger his mission more than he already had, and if he reacted in any way, he had no way of knowing if he would make it out safely.

He folded both hands in front of him, facing the man but keeping his optical receptors lowered to the floor and his shoulders slumped in deference, appearing as non-threatening as possible; he knew it would not matter, as the man’s anger was strong enough he would be blind to reason, but he did not wish to make things worse –he still had to keep a low profile, and no omnic employed in such place would speak up against Hartstrom.

“Do you hear me? What a dumb useless thing.”

The hard shove was unexpected but unsurprising. Zenyatta stumbled backwards as Hartstrom pushed him away from Akande and placed himself between them. He was uncertain whether this was a way to protect his guest or simply to make sure Zenyatta would not ‘sully’ Akande any further but he did not resist. He kept his head tilted down and his forehead array at minimum power.

Still, he was tense.

He was aware a mission could go wrong for any reason, yet this was his own mistake.

He should have known better.

“I will have you dismantled for this,” Hartstrom’s voice was filled with malice, barely higher than a hiss. Again he shoved Zenyatta away, and again he did not protest.

The man could not hurt him, not really –hands were not an effective weapon, unless they targeted delicate wires and circuits– and Zenyatta knew from the start that the man had never considered him or his kin more than moving electronics. That Hartstrom had resulted to such undignified action spoke volumes about his rage –he was not as in control over himself as he should.

Due to that and wanting to minimize the damage, Zenyatta allowed himself to be shoved a third time without responding.

Even as Hartstrom continued pushing him away he kept cursing at him, looking tense and dissatisfied. It was clear he wanted to do more than just shove him and hurl insults at him to be satisfied… after all, he’d just been shamed in front of a guest by one of his own workers’ actions, unaware of the truth behind them.

“Disgusting, useless tin can–” Hartstrom seemed to realise that Zenyatta was not going to react to him but instead of calming down, his unresponsive behaviour seemed to spur him on. Perhaps it was the presence of Akande behind him, as Hartstrom held Talon representatives in great consideration and did not wish to be shamed in front of them, or perhaps it was the mere idea of an omnic failing to follow his orders, but Hartstrom did not look like he would be satisfied with just ordering Zenyatta to leave.

He curled one  hand into a fist and raised it up high, his intent obvious.

Zenyatta glanced upwards, servos tensing in preparation for the hit, and for the ones that would follow, forehead array powering down, circuits buzzing–

The hit never arrived.

Akande’s hand descended to wrap itself around the man’s wrist, startling both Zenyatta and Hartstrom, enough that both turned to look at him, Zenyatta’s forehead array flickering back online in surprise while the man’s eyes grew wide in shock at the unexpected intrusion.

“Mister Ogundimu, I–” like wax, Hartstrom’s fury melted away into something close to panic. He’d lost control in front of the one person he wanted to impress, and that alone was horrifying for him. “I must offer my apologies for this… I had not expected this useless thing to be defective, if I had known… I will dispose of this and then I will make reparations. I promise you, it will _never_ happen again–”

“ _Cease_.”

Akande’s tone sent a shiver down Zenyatta’s back, and it seemed like Hartstrom had a similar reaction, as the man froze, fist going slack in Akande’s grip, and his babbling stuttered into silence.

“What disgraceful behaviour,” Akande murmured, deceivingly calm, a thunderstorm of rage hiding underneath the surface, waiting for a reason to be unleashed, “I had thought that you had far more propriety than this, but I guess… I was mistaken.”

Zenyatta saw Hartstrom stiffen, a minute jolt of his shoulders, the hand at his side trembling just enough to be noticeable.

“How could I not lose my patience when under my nose someone the likes of this could dare to touch you, Mister Ogundimu, in my own villa… I had to… I…” the words came out soft, more like a whimper. His attention had been stolen by Akande, for the man’s imposing presence had turned Hartstrom into a mess, all his dignity melting away into nothing when faced with Akande’s icy glare. “I take responsibility for this servant’s improper actions, and I only wish to punish it as–”

Akande interrupted him, uncaring. “Do not make mistakes, Hartstrom. You consider yourself important, but your only worth for us is what you are willing to provide. Nothing else.”

With a few careful, toneless words, Akande smashed through the man’s inflated ego, though there was no glee in his eyes as he did so, just a cold, inevitable truth.

“… and even then, you are not irreplaceable, Hartstrom.” Then he added, eyes narrowed, “Mark my words. If I see you raise one hand on this omnic, I will personally _ruin_ you.”

There was no inflection in Akande’s voice, betraying nothing of his emotions, the threat delivered coldly, yet Zenyatta felt, almost tangible, the seething fury vibrating underneath the surface, like a storm.

If Hartstrom had appeared twisted in his rage, cheeks flushed dark and almost swollen with it, Akande’s rage was like ice, pupils barely visible, muscles twitching in tension. Controlled, so controlled.

Hartstrom wilted then –the anger sucked out of his body leaving behind nothing but confusion, though when his eyes flashed back at Zenyatta, there was a flicker of bitterness and disgust there, in the sudden twitch of his upper lip forming a grimace before it fell flat again as Hartstrom turned to look at Akande again, ignoring Zenyatta completely.

“As… as you say.”

Zenyatta had to wonder –how did this look from the outside, to a man like Hartstrom? Did he believe Akande would deal with an omnic servant on his own? Did he think anything about it, other than feeling resentment for being shamed by one of Talon’s leaders so completely, even though there was no one else but them around to know of it?

He did not wish to think about it. His frame was vibrating with leftover charge, tension and worry still filtering through his thoughts, and focusing on anything else but the present situation was almost impossible.

“Leave now, and I will consider whether to forget this… or not.” Akande hummed, letting go of Hartstrom’s wrist, and the man wobbled away from him.

Hartstrom dared to glance at Zenyatta, his hands twitching, but yet another look at Akande dissuaded him from trying anything.

Taller, imposing and immobile like a mountain, Akande looked ready to strike and attack, expression unreadable and stony. Hartstrom attempted to look at him in the eyes and stuttered, eyes unable to stay on anything for longer than a second, shoulders slumped in defeat.

There was no contest.

He left them, rushing as quickly as he could without looking like he was being dismissed in his own villa, and Zenyatta did not relax until he was gone, though the undercurrent of tension remained in his servos, preventing him from calming down.

Discord swirled within him, and it took Zenyatta a few seconds to reign control of it enough to speak.

“That was… uncalled for.”

Akande cracked his knuckles, loudly, and for a few long moments he did not speak. He merely observed Zenyatta, eyes moving up and down his frame. He did not smile, nor did he move.

“Was it, now?”

With Hartstrom gone, Zenyatta felt his servos relax minutely, though his circuits were still buzzing with static.

“Your intervention might have compromised my situation just as much as my own lack of professionality, I fear.”

“I said nothing except the truth. That man means nothing for Talon, and his worth is counted on his revenue only, and how much he’s willing to prostrate himself at our feet, wishing to be part of our organization. I merely told him as much.”

Zenyatta hummed, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his jacket.

He knew as much –Talon cared for no one except its own, and Hartstrom, for all his money, was not one of them.

Yet…

“He will not let this go –he is vicious in pursue of those who wrong him, and he might… perceive me in such a way.” Zenyatta clasped his hands together in front of him to stop them from fidgeting, in a show of calm that he did not truly feel. “I have shamed him in front of one of his… esteemed guests. He will seek retribution once I am not in your presence, or send someone to see it through, either way.”

Akande moved towards him. He was still angry, though not the same sort of fury from before, but the air around him was vibrating with it, and Zenyatta could feel it with his sensors, like a prickle of static. He stopped inches from him, and stared down at Zenyatta with an unreadable expression, though Zenyatta did not feel cowed, nor threatened.

He’d long since stopped being afraid of Akande.

“Then it is a relief,” Akande stated, voice deceivingly plain, “that you do not plan on staying any longer.”

Zenyatta hesitated, weighting the situation for a second, unsure.

He could leave now –it would be safer, his cover would be protected and he had enough info to please Winston, though not as much as he could have gathered had he not been otherwise occupied– or he could stay some more, blend in with the rest of the omnic servants, attempt to do everything he’d wished to do, from seeking more names for his list to carefully prodding the other omnics to try and help them….

“You _will_ leave,” Akande said, in a tone that meant he did not expect to be challenged. “This is not about your… prowess as an undercover agent, my monk. Nor is it about your mission. I do not care about either. No, this is about knowing when to retire. Should you not know this?” Akande’s hands reached out to fix the bowtie around Zenyatta’s neck. A mechanical thumb traced the red wire running down his neck, sending a tiny sparkle of static through Zenyatta’s circuits. “You are here alone. You have enough power to bring down this place if you so wished. I would like to see it happen… yet, do not discount an incognita. If you were to be discovered…” lips curled up in a sneer, though Zenyatta understood what that meant.

Being discovered as an agent of OverWatch would bring unwanted attention to his organization, which had not received any official authorization to exist as of yet. It could make Talon decide to snuff out OverWatch before it truly became a thorn in its side, and Zenyatta knew that at this point, it would not be much of a challenge to do so.

Being compromised now, found out by Hartstrom, by Talon –discounting Akande’s knowledge, of course– could be disastrous.

Ridiculous, how Zenyatta had been on the other side of similar speeches in the past, when someone else had been stubborn, and refused to listen.

Ironic how he had someone say that to him now.

“I might as well join my teammates outside.” Servos slumping a little, Zenyatta let out a soft sigh.

He tried to find disappointment inside him, but he knew that this was the correct decision, no matter how dissatisfying it could be… though he was rather sure Winston would agree once he knew that he’d retreated as a safety measure.

With the matter settled, a new wave of calm flooded him, allowing him to soothe the worry still vibrating within his circuits.

“Then… I will escort you, if you allow me.” Akande’s expression softened, the intense look in his eyes fading into satisfaction.

Had he worried, perhaps, for Zenyatta’s safety? It sounded difficult to believe, but that would explain his words to Hartstrom, the rage that had been quietly simmering and ready to bubble to the surface…

“I have to return to the workers area to change back into my clothes,” Zenyatta murmured, choosing to ignore where his thoughts were going. “It would not do to be seen leaving this place in such recognizable attire.”

“Alright. Lead the way.”

Zenyatta made his way to the main area of the party with moderate, slow footsteps. Behind him, he could feel Akande following him, eyes never straying from him, calculating, keeping enough distance not to appear suspicious but close enough to intervene should someone attempt to address Zenyatta.

He chose to avoid the crowd as much as possible, not wishing to attract attention to himself now that he’d made himself a possible target for Hartstrom’s hatred, walking near the wall and keeping his optical receptors studiously tilted to the floor.

Since he had no tray nor food on him, the guests ignored him.

Trailing behind him, Akande kept his expression neutral, though there was something in his gaze that had anyone glancing at him shrink back; the few who noticed him and attempted to approach were quick to find he had no interest to speak with them, and properly cowed they backed down, turning around to make sure they were not staring.

Zenyatta’s servos lost some of their lingering tension only when he moved past a smaller archway leading to a side corridor, away from the main area of the party, and the guests disappeared from sight.

The corridor was empty, as all omnic workers were busy in the kitchens or serving the guests, so no one would be in this wing of the villa, which allowed Zenyatta a little more breathing space, so to speak.

Away from prying eyes, the background music fading into the distance to be replaced by the sound of their footsteps echoing in the silence, Zenyatta slowed down and allowed Akande to catch up with him before glancing up at him. He did not appear willing to make small talk, and Zenyatta wondered about it.

It would not take long to reach the changing room, and then even less time to switch clothes and leave. The mission was done, not a total success due to his own missteps, but at least he had gathered some information –which considering their position, was better than nothing. Still, it stung.

Zenyatta was familiar with failure, had weathered many defeats in the past and had accepted them and grew from them, and yet… if only he had not been so focused on Akande, he would have managed to spend the rest of the evening completing his job.

It was not a matter of being bested –it was an unacceptable slip up that he would make sure never to repeat.

Again, despite his better judgement, Zenyatta found his thoughts veering away from his team waiting outside and back to the man walking by him.

He was still silent, and Zenyatta found that surprising, almost unsettling. He observed his face quietly, and though it appeared blank to a cursory glance, Zenyatta couldn’t shake the belief that Akande was disgruntled about something.

The changing room was empty, as expected. It was different from the rest of Hartstrom’s villa, so rich in paintings and expensive ornaments –this was a modestly sized room with no decoration whatsoever, bland and mostly empty aside for a few tables and a row of metallic closets, not unlike lockers in size and shape.

It was obvious that the man had no intention to give the omnics he employed any sort of luxury, and it showed.

Again, Zenyatta felt a wave of disappointment. He would have to leave without speaking with his fellows, unless he chose to return at a later date, and not while on a mission with OverWatch…

Nodding to himself, determined to do what he could, Zenyatta made his way to the locker he’d been assigned, opening it and carelessly undressing, unbuttoning the jacket, then the shirt, then sliding the bowtie away from his neck.

“You would have allowed him to continue hitting you.”

The shirt slipped out of Zenyatta’s hands and fell on the floor at his feet, and he glanced down at it, hesitating. He knelt to pick it up, then looked at where Akande was standing. He had almost forgotten he was there.

Akande had not entered the room, arms crossed in front of him, and he looked out of place standing there, tall and displeased. He was staring at Zenyatta with the same unreadable expression as before, though his brow was creased, and once Zenyatta tentatively reached out with his senses, his aura returned to him the sensation of bitter anger.

“… I had to protect my cover.”

That would have to be enough, but it was clearly not the answer Akande had wished to hear.

He crossed the threshold of the quarters, and Zenyatta found himself cornered all of sudden, one of Akande’s hands tightly wrapped around his throat, the other at his waist, where his uncovered circuits were.

“What did you want me to say?” he met Akande’s gaze levelly, unafraid and unabashed. “Hartstrom’s attitude is nothing new for me, and he’s well known for his dislike towards omnics. Have you not noticed? It is a common attitude.”

Akande’s fingers tightened around his throat, but there was no threat in his actions, nor anger directed at him.

There was frustration in his aura, swirling around them like thick fog, and Zenyatta raised one hand to Akande’s cheek, thumb caressing the skin of his jaw.

It was surprising, though –this kind of reaction. Akande was upset, and it was clear he did not like the feeling, nor what had caused it.

“Akande.” Akande jolted slightly, surprised at Zenyatta using his name. “His words, his actions –they mean nothing to me. If he thought he could harm me with words, then he is mistaken. I was willing to let him hit me for the sake of my cover, but nothing he said, or did, could hurt me.”

It was perhaps one of the rare times Zenyatta had no words to properly express himself. There had been so many who had tried to hurt Zenyatta and other omnics with hateful words and equally hateful actions, in the past. Many, far too many.

Day after day, Zenyatta had seen and felt upon his own body what hatred was, and how far such emotion could push people.

It was not a novelty, nor was it unexpected.

It had happened before he had joined the Shambali, and it had continued to happen afterwards.

Yet, Zenyatta had no fear of men like Hartstrong, strangling themselves with their own hatred, unable to move past it, unable to learn. All they could do was hate, but Zenyatta chose not to give them any power. He would fight such attitude on his own, counter each act of hatred with one of kindness, and do his best to negate what hatred sought to groom. Such change was one he could aid with his own hand, and so he would.

“He does not matter, and as such, there is no value in his words or actions.”

Akande’s hand slipped away from his throat, down to the golden plate covering his core, and a huff left his lips, something soft and amused. “Indeed.”

He did not move away, though, and Zenyatta continued to trace his jaw with a thumb, gently. He was touched by the worry, but far more touched by the fact that Akande seemed to _understand_ what he meant to convey.

“How did you recognise me, among all omnics at the party?” he asked, voice no higher than a murmur.

Akande snorted. “As if I could ever mistake you for any other omnic.”

“Bold declaration. There are many who have my same build.”

“I have mapped every inch of your body, memorized every line, every scratch, every dent on your chassis.” Akande leaned down, breathing against the pistons surrounding Zenyatta’s neck, where the small indents caused by Akande’s teeth were still visible this close. “Do you truly believe I would not recognise you, even among many of your kin?”

Frame shaking in laughter, Zenyatta leaned forwards, erasing the last few inches of distance between them, rubbing the front of his mouth piece against Akande’s jaw, omnic energy flickering across its surface to caress Akande’s skin in a kiss.

With a soft, pleased growl, Akande returned the gesture, lips warm against the side of his face plate, then lower, on the pistons of his neck, then against the back of his neck, at the base of the wires connecting torso with head. Zenyatta tilted his head to the side, ceding control, yet omnic energy continued to flicker from him to every inch he could reach of Akande’s face.

It was exhilarating, even in its inconvenience –he allowed himself to have this, just one more stolen moment with Akande, and Zenyatta recognised the act for what it was, new and pleasing and thrilling in ways he had not expected to feel.

He’d never courted danger before, nor had he ever courted _people_ , and what little attempts had existed seemed almost uninfluential now, pale and lost among the folds of time. It had been a long time, and none of his earlier flings had felt so ambiguously good.

There had not been many, for he had little interest and his focus had always been elsewhere, which was what made this so different and new. Akande consumed his mind, demanded his attention even when he was not present, occupied Zenyatta’s thoughts so often it had become almost a constant, and Zenyatta had yet to get accustomed to it.

Akande’s hand brushed his way down his sides, reminding Zenyatta of his state of undress and that he should stop and get dressed, then the thought was pushed out of his mind when Akande tugged him flush against his chest, head tilted down to kiss him.

Zenyatta responded in kind, hands lost in the folds of Akande’s suit, wrinkling it, and for a moment he focused on the feeling of Akande’s lips sliding over his facial plates, sensation amplified by the buzz of omnic energy he’d summoned to kiss him back.

He felt Akande’s hands caress his spine, not seeking out any sensors, just touching, mapping his back, and he felt one of his thighs slide between his parted legs, lifting him up slightly, giving Akande more room to kiss him.

“I would have you against the wall,” Akande breathed against the curve of his neck, swollen lips parted to chase one of his wires, “yet the idea of this place, and the person who owns it… puts a damper on my mood.”

Zenyatta was startled to realise he was straining against Akande’s chest, his body squeezed between him and a wall, and he wondered, almost dizzy, how he had ended this way.

He jolted backwards, painfully aware of the throbbing sensation beneath his modesty panel, like a dull ache that needed to be sated, and forced it down, lowering the sensitivity of his parts until the need faded into a lingering buzz, as he was unable to shut it down fully, not with Akande so close.

“That would be… unadvisable, yes.” His circuits heated up in embarrassment at how breathless his voice was, and he had to make a conscious decision to unwrap his hands from Akande’s suit, smoothing it to hide the tremor in his fingers. “Besides, I do not count myself as an adventurous type.”

This close, Akande’s laughter sounded even better, huffing in amusement as he pressed his forehead against Zenyatta’s shoulder. “I would not mind helping you reconsider such stance.”

Despite his words, Akande was still holding him flush against the wall, fingers idly caressing the pistons on his side. Zenyatta shook himself out of his haze, refusing to focus on how they fit together, how the thought of Akande being willing to continue did nothing to calm his anticipation, and instead chose to be rational. “Did you not suggest I should be prompt in leaving the villa?”

Akande paused, his hand stilling against his side, then exhaled loudly and nodded. The displeased look did not suit him, but he smoothed it out after a second as he pulled away from him.

Zenyatta welcomed the distance between them as much as he detested it, acutely aware of how easily this infatuation of his could take hold of his attention. It felt so much like a trap, and such a sweet one at that.

He slipped into his clothes with no rush, aware of Akande’s eyes on his body, and when he turned around, Akande smirked, offering him one arm.

“Well, how chivalrous.” Instead of taking it, though, Zenyatta walked at his side, hands folded behind his back. “It would be best if you only accompanied me to the main entrance and no further. I would not wish you to be seen by my companions waiting outside.”

Akande’s lips pulled up in a leer. “It would be quite a scandal, would it not? I did not ask… how did they take your return?”

“Hmmm. They were surprised to find I had been offered a place within your ranks, though none had any doubt I would refuse, of course.”

“… of course.” There was still the same infuriating smile that had Zenyatta shake his head.

“You do know it will not happen. I do not see myself abandoning this path, and dreams of power are not such sweet song that I could be lured away… nor are you a siren.”

“Maybe I have yet to start singing, and you are not… close enough.”

Zenyatta did not look at him, though he hummed. “I would say we _have_ been close enough, yet I have heard no enticing tune.”

The soft snort he received in reply made his fans spin faster, such pleasing sound it was.

It felt as if the walk from the workers area to the main entrance of the villa lasted mere seconds.

Zenyatta had been lost in thought on the way to the entrance, thinking about the report he would have to prepare, about the few names he’d confirmed, about the footage he’d recorded that he would need to download and copy for Athena to analyse and run a cross-reference with the faces in her database, so when his sensors registered Akande stopping at his side, he jolted back into focus.

The enormous gates of the villa were open, and Zenyatta could see the guards patrolling outside, silhouettes in the dark of the gardens, backlit by the streetlights.

He slowed down and came to a stop, and Akande paused as well to look at him, neither speaking.

Akande looked at him, waiting, and Zenyatta _knew_ what he was waiting for.

“I…”

“Hmmm?” Akande lifted one eyebrow, but did not speak.

Zenyatta contemplated once again his choices.

If he had to follow reason, he would tell Akande to forget about courting him, even if he did not mean it, but a part of Zenyatta did not wish to let go, greedy in ways he’d never been before.

Either way, Akande wanted an answer.

“Earlier you said you would like to…” it should have been easy to repeat Akande’s words back at him, yet he found the words slipping through his fingers, circuits heating up in something close to embarrassment.

Akande chuckled, saving him from having to continue. “Yes. That I did. Do you have an answer for me, _Zenyatta_?”

Fighting the shiver that his name on Akande’s lips always seemed to cause, Zenyatta sighed. “Yes. I…” yet he hesitated, and time stretched forwards, one second then another, and another still as he hesitated, both answers battling within his brain.

He wanted to say yes, and knew it would probably make him fumble again, miss something important, fail. He should take what had happened earlier as an admonishment, so not to fall again.

He should refuse, and say no, and let the ‘what ifs’ pile up, unneeded and bittersweet. It could go nowhere, and fooling himself to believe otherwise would do himno good, would only drag this on and on to a painful end, and…

Zenyatta looked up, straightening his back and meeting Akande’s eyes with his optical receptors, his forehead array burning into a darker shade of teal.

“Yes,” he found himself saying, synth almost cracking under the heaviness of that simple word.

He knew he’d just sealed a deal, but the heaviness that settled itself onto his core was a mix of anticipation and guilt, and he could not muster up any sort of regret –at least not yet.

How far could this go, before he had to face his choices and the weight they carried?

Akande’s answer, much to his shock, was laughter. The man’s shoulders shook in mirth, lips stretched wide and tilted upwards, and he covered them with one hand to muffle the sounds of his laughter.

Zenyatta’s forehead array flashed in what could be only described as a disapproving glow, the teal lights still flashing dark. “I do not wish to be ridiculed for…” _‘agreeing to this’_ , he wanted to add, yet he trailed off, glancing to the gardens outside. Biding his time.

Akande shook his head, laughter still visible in the way his eyes crinkled, and his human hand wrapped around one of Zenyatta’s own. It was large, calloused, nothing soft to it. The touch was familiar, and rough.

“I do not intend to mock you for choosing me, my monk. I will court you, and scatter praise at your feet for allowing me this chance. You might not believe me, yet Talon, OverWatch… do _not_ matter. Choose what you wish to believe, but I act solely for my own gain. What I want is in front of me, and I have been allowed to have it. Would that not make any man as happy as it does me?”

Though Akande’s words sent a flustered heat through his processors, Zenyatta looked down at their joined hands, and thought about what he’d just agreed to.

There were still doubts there, of course there were –not about Akande’s intentions, but about what results such a choice would have.

Could he allow something like this to happen, when it was obviously not about wishing to help Akande?

Yet, despite it all, Zenyatta still wished to see this through. He still wanted this.

“I cannot deny I am attracted by you.” He observed the pleased tilt of Akande’s lips as his laughter quieted down, his gaze still as focused as ever. “You are… undeniably handsome, and intriguing. Yet… it would be rather disappointing to find you otherwise lacking. If you so wish to court me, then I expect you to be able to impress me.”

Startled despite himself, Akande looked at him, eyes wide in surprise, before he collected himself, lips curling upwards in a satisfied smirk. “You have no need to worry –I have no intention to disappoint.”

***

He exited the villa without turning back, avoiding the curious gaze of the guards as he passed by them, none of them stopping him, and only relaxed fully once he was out of the main gates, when he felt the familiar flicker of his comm-link starting itself back online.

Instantly, he heard the crackle of static inside one of his auricular receptors, followed by Jesse’s worried voice. _“Zenyatta? You okay down there?”_

Clearly, his teammates had been checking the front doors to catch a glimpse of what was happening inside, and had noticed him coming from the moment he’d passed through the front entrance.

“Yes. Hello, Jesse. If you would be so kind as to come down with my mala, I have quite a long report to make.”

_“Right, we’re comin’ down this instant, but… you out pretty early. Something wrong? Were you followed? Are you–”_

_“Master, was everything alright?”_ Genji’s voice superimposed over Jesse’s, tone rushed and tinged with worry.

“Everything was… well, I thought it prudent to leave earlier.” A twinge of guilt, but he kept his voice steady as he continued. “I have, however, managed to overhear something important during my short stay.”

 _“Oh?”_ Jesse and Genji both seemed to perk up. _“Can’t wait to hear it all, Zen. Hang on…”_ Jesse shuffled around for a moment. _“Nobody seems to be following you. Continue down the road, Pharah will cover you from the sky and we’ll meet a mile from here. Alright with ya?”_

“That is alright. I do not think they will seek to follow me, as the party is still going and there’s far more important guests to guard inside.”

_“Perfect. With you shortly then.”_

He heard Jesse click his communication shut, but there was no similar noise from Genji’s end, so Zenyatta waited, even as he walked down the quiet, empty street and continued walking on the sidewalk.

After a couple minutes, he heard a soft sigh.

_“I’m sorry, master.”_

“What for, Genji?”

 _“I… I have behaved rudely earlier. I just…”_ Genji seemed to fumble with his words, his tone lower, and Zenyatta had to wonder if he’d moved away from Fareeha and Jesse, so he would not be overheard. _“Since you came back, you have been… quieter, master. I know nothing was done to you during your… captivity, and yet… I could not help but worry, and this mission away from us made me worry even more. I wanted to address this earlier, but had no idea how, and when you expressed your intentions to follow through with the mission, that took precedence. I felt useless, and even more so when I could not get you to open up with whatever it is that is bothering you.”_

“Oh, Genji…” Zenyatta halted his quiet footsteps, feeling a wave of grief pass through his core, his auricular receptors buzzing. “You have nothing to apologize for. I am the one who should be sorry. I did not intend to worry you. There were many things on my mind after spending so much time with…” he hesitated, “Doomfist. There is much worry in my soul for OverWatch that it makes me wish I could do more to aid it, for Talon’s reach is…” he trailed off, and shook his head. “These are things best said in person, though. I would ask your forgiveness for being so distant, this past month. There was a lot on my mind, but I chose to dwell on it, rather than share such burden with you as I should have.”

There was a long pause, and he heard Genji clear his throat, hesitant yet hopeful. _“Master…”_

“If you are willing, I would wish to speak about my fears with you, Genji, after I have compiled my report for Winston. I feel we have not meditated together in a long while, and I miss that.”

_“Of course, master. I have missed that as well. I am grateful you have decided to confide in me.”_

Despite the obvious pleased tone in Genji’s voice as he shut down the call, Zenyatta could not smile.

He moved to press his forehead against the wall at his side, humming softly and allowing his focus to stay on the even sound of his internal fans, using that rhythm to soothe the discord growing inside his core.

He had not known Genji had noticed something was wrong, because Genji had kept his worries to himself, and while he could not be honest about Akande, about what was growing between them –would he ever?– he could at least share with Genji the burden of his worry for OverWatch.

That much he could do.

In a way, he felt guilty for keeping Genji in the dark, but on the other side, he had no need to know about Zenyatta’s… relationship… with Doomfist, not unless it became dangerous for OverWatch. If that happened though Zenyatta trusted himself to be able to cut himself free before it ended too badly.

Still it was weird to have something that Genji could not know, when they had never had need for many secrets between them.

He straightened his back again, shuffling away from the wall. He would have to start walking again to make sure to meet his team without delay, but before doing so, Zenyatta looked back.

Hartstrom’s villa was far enough in the distance that he could only see the gate surrounding its gardens and its rooftop peeking above the tall walls. In the dark he could not see Fareeha above him, though he knew she would be there soon, if she wasn’t already.

The cool air against his sensors was pleasant, and it offered him a chance to clear his mind and as he turned around once again and resumed his brisk walk, Zenyatta thought about his agreement with Akande.

Before then, it could have been easy to just brush it off –he had not expected to see him anytime soon, after all– but he had given his consent to Akande. He had _wanted_ to be pursued, he had _wanted_ to see where this could lead them.

Even now, the thought of Akande still made his circuits feel weird, too heavy and squeezed tightly inside his frame.

Unsettled, with a weight on his chest that felt both heavy and light at the same time, Zenyatta moved on to their meeting point, his auricular sensors waiting for the familiar sound of Fareeha’s jetpack, and allowed his thoughts to rest.

There would be time to meditate, later.

For now, he walked on.


End file.
